Elemental Prophecies
by Raven Dragonclaw
Summary: Kidnapped, Nuitari Hawking is brought to Hogwarts by a man who claims to be his godfather. The still amnesiac Harry now finds himself in the middle of the Wizard-Elemental conflict, all the while Voldemort is gaining power.
1. Familiar Stranger

Disclaimer: I only own Grey Tower, any characters you don't recognize, and the plot. **Please read Elemental Genesis first before reading this. 

* * *

Elemental Prophecies

**

* * *

Chapter One: Familiar Stranger 

_Familiar stranger  
Should I know your name?  
Did we meet sometime ago? _

_I feel uncertain  
Shadows whisper to me now  
Sudden wind begins to blow_

_What is veiled now soon  
Will be shown  
Come walk with me through  
The unknown  
Stranger_

_ "Stranger" by Starship___

* * *

"You idiot! Don't you realize what you're suggesting?!"

"Of course, I do! But that doesn't mean that we have to deny children their education over that little fact! They deserve the same rights to a magical education as the purebloods do!"

"Little fact," the first voice hissed in frustration and thinly veiled anger. "You call the Black Plague, the bloody pestilence that is killing off thousands of us, just a 'little fact'! The muggleborns are the ones most in contact with the wretched disease and the most likely to bring it here! All the hard work we've done to keep the wizarding community safe from this menace would have been for naught!"

Two men stood in the darkened corridors, the night pale from moonlight and starry outside the small window. The torchlight, dim gold, played along the walls with the shadows. One stood in the light, the fire dancing on light brown hair creating golden highlights, in robes the color of burgundy, with a face so handsome and attractive that it was almost divine. He leaned against the freshly hewn stone, the edges of each block sharp and perfect, his body language like that of an imperious and arrogant lion, his hand resting casually on the ruby-studded sword belted at his waist.

The other, taller man stood in the light of the moon, the white luminance making his skin even paler than it was, stark against the black robes he wore, the silver embroidery of snakes and the vibrant emeralds of his gold chain gleaming. His eyes were a piercing dark brown, hard and ruthless. Dark black hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, though stray strands hung loose around his face. He was not awe-inspiring gorgeous like the other man. No, he was merely a normal man with no outstanding good looks to make him stand out in the crowd. But he possessed a striking aura of power and authority that drew the eye, much more so than physical attractiveness.

"It still isn't right," the one in burgundy said.

"Right be damned," the dark one proclaimed shortly. "Tell me that when you're dying of it in the hospital wing. Tell me that a thousand years later when the muggles finally outnumber us so much so that our freedom to do what we wish has diminished because we all died out during these times." With that and an impressive scowl, the dark robed man turned around with a flourish and began to walk away, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

But the other merely laughed. "Like that will happen, Slytherin! By the way, give my regards to Chryse…"

The perverted smile of the lighter haired man immediately vanished when the point of a wand was aimed directly in between his eyes. Those eyes, sharper than swords, ran through him as if he were a disgusting piece of trash. "Not satisfied with your wife, Gryffindor? Nor with Rowena or Helga?" he mocked. "Don't think I'm blind. Keep your womanizing _disgusting _self away from **my** wife." Not waiting for a reaction, the black robed man proceed to leave, leaving his opponent behind in that corridor, winding his way down the twisting corridors and stairs to the dungeons. His wife hadn't been pleased with the fact that she would be living in the lower levels, but she acquiesced. Because of this, he tried to make the dungeons as comfortable as possible.

As he reached for the handle of the door to his rooms, he paused when heard the faint strains of music floating through into the hallway. He smiled in contentment. It was late, the students and his son would be peacefully asleep. He let the music wash over him, the sweet strains comforting and relaxing him. He could physically feel his angry mood slowly slip away.

Then again, Chryse always had that calming affect on him.

He pushed open the heavy door and hissed a small greeting to the large dark green snake lounging comfortably on the armchair, its head resting on its coils in satisfaction. The music was louder know, the soul in the music palpable in its silver beauty. Sitting before the roaring fire, he smiled fondly at his small three year-old son who was sleeping peacefully on the sofa, apparently abandoning his picture book to frolic in the land of dreams. Though young Athanasius resembled his mother greatly in looks and personality, he could see his own traits showing. Indeed the child was clever enough at this age. He was a lovely child, the eyes he inherited from his mother innocent and serene when awake. Relaxing in the plush green chair, he looked on at his wife, the woman he fell in love with. Their meeting was by chance; one could even call it fate, though he was never one to believe in the subject of destiny and divination at all.

She stood there, in the firelight, but it didn't seem to cast any of its gold on her at all. To him, it always seemed as if she were shadows and silver, a different kind of radiance emanating from within. Her robes were dark green, in a strange style he had never seen, but what she insisted was worn in the Middle East. He did not question her, since they had met in the Constantinople, but he had never been farther east than that fair city. Tall and regal, her hair was a mix of dark brown and black, though once or twice he saw strands of silver intermingled within the dark that had nothing to do with age. His dark-haired goddess, he called her, and she always amused when he said that. Pale hands grasped the bow of the violin, the stringed instrument making melodies that were cathartic to his spirit.

"Gryffindor has bothered you again, hasn't he, Salazar?" she asked, no skip or delay in the song. Salazar knew this song well by now, but it never lost its charm to him. Its sweeping notes, its alternating rapid and slow rhythms, its dark undertones. _Night's Aria, _she said it was called, and played it when she wanted to be reminded of her family, wherever they were. He had, of course, met her brother Nathaniel…odd nutter, that he was. But it never ceased to amaze him how she always knew. She opened her eyes, that piercing dark blue flecked with gold and silver, containing worry for him. Worry for her son, peacefully slumbering.

Worry for the future.

* * *

"C'mon!"

"Hey, I'm trying!"

"Doesn't seem like it on my end, kiddo."

"Some cheerleader you are."

"Do I look like the type to be jumping around in a short pleated miniskirt, waving pompoms in the air wildly while screaming cheesy limericks of encouragement? Because if so, then I will be under the impression that you've been drinking or something."

Nuitari Hawking, the Black Dragon successor of the Arashi-Tenku elemental clan, grinned before returning back to his work. He had plenty of things to be happy about. Oh, certainly, he was usually happy. Most of the time he was in a good mood. But he had seen his doctor today, who really had only good news to share. His malnutrition was diminishing, thanks to good food and effective exercise. He had grown a few inches taller. Of course, he was still not as tall as two of his friends Bran or Mordecai, but he was finally reaching a more normal (and less embarrassing) height. All his injuries had healed with no problems whatsoever. Other than the fact that he still suffered from amnesia, he was okay and healthy, no longer as sickly or frail looking. Of course, he still had that strange thin scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt. But he didn't remember how he got in the first place. And it was barely visible from underneath his bangs.

But it was now completely proven. A good and loving family and home definitely made a spectacular difference.

He did admit that he had changed a lot since his sudden appearance in Grey Tower Town. Other than physically, though he did admit that his messy black hair still drew looks, particularly with the streaks of gold and silver in them from an accident a few months ago in the Eastern Starlands. And that he now had the tattoo of his clan on his left arm. He felt…more assured in himself. And he knew that this feeling of contentment was something completely new and foreign to him, but delightful all the same.

The boy was sitting Indian-style on his large bed, tracing patterns absently with a yew wand on the thick heavy fabric. His blazer, its left arm embroidered with the black dragon of the Arashi-Tenku, hung over the chair of his desk, the computer on top of it open to a report he had finished and printed about an hour ago. His large gable window was wide open, the last vestiges of a crimson sunset just noticeable over the horizon, cool autumn air fresh and exhilarating. On the tree outside, a green-eyed black cat with silver paws, gold-tipped ears and tail twitching as it tried to swat what was probably the last of the fireflies this year. Yes, Shadow was still staying loyally by his side here at 14 Zephyrus Court. His pet owl, his spirit guardian actually, Hedwig was out hunting. A dark green backpack lay abandoned by the door of his room, the white pages of textbooks and notebooks visible. Pictures and posters were hung up on the walls, the most prominent being a large photo of four teens: a tall boy with red hair, another tall boy with spiky light brown hair, a short dark-haired girl, and himself, all smiling widely while showing the camera the different colored tattoos on their left arms.

But Nuitari – or Night, as he preferred – wasn't concentrating on the items that made up his bedroom. His focus, and frustration, was the small rock that was sitting innocently on the coverlet. Though he did entertain himself that the rock was laughing (and laughing hard) at him for his efforts. A mirror floated nearby, though it did not reflect the room, but rather an older dark-haired man with blue eyes whose face held a perceptible similarity with the boy.

"Tom, **_why_ **am I doing this?" Night asked pleadingly. "A rock is a rock. I don't think it wants to be turned into anything, whether it's a cat, a snake, or even a particularly brown cow."

Tom, the man in the mirror, smirked. "Because if you finish with this, we move on to more _fun_ things. Don't you want to have _fun_?"

"I believe you said that before after we covered animal to animal transfiguration." He winced from the memory. "Neither Hedwig or Shadow approved of **those** lessons."

"They'll get over it." A loud angry feline hiss from the tree outside countered this.

"Well, you'll never know when you'll need some animal assistance," the older man continued, pointedly ignoring (and blushing at) that contradiction to his statement. "Take a break, you've done enough."

With resigned exhalation, he picked up the rock and placed it on his nightstand, doing the same with his wand. Well, it actually _Tom's_ wand, but Tom let him have it to practice wizarding magic. Reaching over the side, he picked up a large leather case and unzipped the zipper. Pulling back on the case, he reached in and pulled out a polished violin and after it, the bow that belonged to it.

"Ah, the violin," Tom sighed. "I used to love playing that instrument."

"You played the violin?"

"Yep. It always made me feel better. Though I never really understood how I could play instinctively. Nor where the songs themselves came from."

Night nodded in agreement. The same thing happened to him. During music class, he picked up the instrument and began playing as if he had known how all his life. __

_ …Maybe I knew how to play before I lost my memory…_

It was the only plausible explanation he had for the moment.

As he played the melody that he knew and yet didn't know, the song that for some reason he called _Night's Aria_, he felt a distinct feeling of foreboding in the air.

* * *

"Now add 50 milliliters of the copper sulfate to the hydrochloric acid, armadillo bile, and essence of laurel," the icy voice of Professor Lavinia Coulter intoned imperiously. The woman herself walked up and down the desk aisles, observing the concoctions brewing with an expert and critical eye from behind her spectacles. "Stir counterclockwise slowly with your stirring rods while it heats. **Do nothing else**." Within seconds after this command was given, the splashing of liquids, the clinking of glass against glass, as well as the occasional of pain due to carelessness pervaded the room, a quiet murmur of conversation here and there. The students that filled this room wore a multitude of colors and a variety of clothing, but the main constant among them was that they all wore the same kind of blazer. Most were alarmingly attentive to their task, some even sweating profusely from the mere effort of making the correct measurements.

Large beakers full of a cerulean blue substance were on every triangular shaped table, clean vials held in place in racks, and graduated cylinders of every size stood tall in the center. Each table had three sinks, one for each student at one table to use. Binders everywhere were open, scribbled with notes and instructions, some of the neat pages stained with the color of chemicals and solutions. Bubbling beakers were held up by circular rings attached to stands, beneath them a merry flame contained in a clear glass orbs, producing just the right amount of heat. Diligently, the students work, eager to gain the perfect results.

It was at one such table that three boys, three friends, stood at their stations, doing the activity. The least attentive one, a boy with spiky light-brown hair whose blue eyes was focused on the professor rather than the concoction he was unconsciously mixing, wore a tan-colored blazer with a blue dragon sewn on. The boy in the black blazer embroidered with a red dragon that worked next to him, with dark red hair and with blue eyes as well, ignored his friend's inattention to concentrate completely on his task. The last of the them, a thin pale boy in the dark green blazer with striking emerald eyes, looked caught between apprehension and the urge to burst out laughing. He shook his head in amusement; the gold and silver stardust streaks in his messy hair catching a bit of the light. Respectively, these boys were Mordecai Freely, Bran Ravencroft, and Nuitari Hawking.

In reflection, Night wished Trina, the fourth in their group, was there with them. But she was quite happy to be in the far less difficult chemistry class of Dr. Lapiano than in the ever-feared Professor Coulter's class. One word came to his mind when he thought of that: _lucky_. Professor Coulter viewed the subject she taught as the greatest of the sciences, the foundation of the entire world and everything in existence, and enforced its significance in every lesson of hers. She loved chemistry and had no patience for those who couldn't see its subtle beauty, even less patience for those who dared to fall asleep while she explained the complex nature of ionic and covalent bonds. Night couldn't say that chemistry was his favorite class, but he thought it was okay. He wasn't particularly outstanding, but he did considerably well, probably due to his previous experiences with the icy professor.

Grey Tower High valued its high graduation rates and number of successful alumni. As a result, the hour-long classes started at eight and ended at four in the afternoon. No class consisted only of members from one or two clans. In every lesson and classroom Night went into, he met a multitude of other teenagers his age from other clans. The variety made it interesting, since he knew only a few people (mainly those who would succeed the leaders, like himself). Of course, they had heard of him.

He started the day in mathematics class, where lately Mr. Dalton was boggling his mind with what he called 'the simple topic of geometric proofs. _Simple? Right…I'd like to see him **completely** memorize all those damned postulates._ He had no problem with the subject matter. No, of course not. But he did have difficultly in memorizing over twenty-four rules and postulates, each one to be used to prove something else. It did not help when – as a joke in very poor taste – Dalton added in complex algebra to the problems on their latest test. How Victor Lerani managed to gain a 100 average baffled him.

Ms. Carmichael was a nice woman. Because of that, a number of the students took advantage of that kindness to treat the class as more or less a free period. Elemental Control was to teach the theory of various elemental techniques, such as manipulation and metamorphosis. Night was surprised that many of the spells that required a wand and the correct phrasing of words could be achieved with the same effects if an elemental concentrated their elemental energy correctly to do it. But, judging from the off-hand lesson that took only a day to cover, Night could only assume that this wasn't used a lot.

His Language Arts teacher was Ms. Bronte, an energetic woman with a distinct London accent. She had a habit of calling the subject she taught as 'English', to which she explained was the term they used in the United States, where she was part of an exchange program while in college. This was Bran's favorite class, the red-haired youth practically skipping to the door every day, ignoring the pointed looks of dislike that happened to follow him. Night liked _Oliver Twist_ and he admitted that without shame. He could sympathize with the orphan's plight, of course. But enough to do a four page analysis of Dickens' style? That ruined it really. Not to mention, the presentations…

Gym…he was thankful that his lunch period followed soon after that. Fredericks, a veteran of World War II and a soldier in India, he pushed them relentlessly. "War is HELL!" the older man had screamed at them on their first day, eliciting raised eyebrows from Night and Trina. _This philosophy comes from a man who had met Gandhi in person?_ Either way, it all surmounted to one thing.

Dodgeball.

After lunch, which he shared with all of his friends, he then went to chemistry with Professor Coulter. Usually lunch entailed an argument between Mordecai and Bran (though they called it a discussion) over something rather insignificant, before all four of them erupted into laughter. He didn't know why this happened, but he couldn't say that he didn't enjoy it.

His second to last class of the day was music with Mrs. Shepards, a stately woman with a benevolent smile. He had the option of taking art, but he decided on music instead. With Trina as a friend, it was impossible _not_ to be involved in art in some way. Mrs. Shepards had been reluctant to let him into her program so late, but allowed it. Usually students were taught to play an instrument as well as learn to sing. She was quite surprised when she handed him a violin and he immediately began pouring out a song (a minuet, to be exact). Even more so when he claimed that he didn't remember ever playing one (which was the truth…he didn't). So, he was now part of the music program, alternating between singing and playing instruments every day.

Okay, he admitted it. He made a screeching cat sound good. But he wasn't perfect! And he was working on it…

The last class, History and Politics, was somewhat of a joke. Usually, their teacher just gave them typed notes for them to read and a few questions before sitting at his desk and letting them do what they wanted. According to Patricia Garamond (a wind elemental from the Seijaku-Shinrin), the man was trying to complete the 'perfect' thesis essay to submit to Oxford. And he started this essay two years ago. Mr. Weatherby was an extreme perfectionist. Though Night had no idea why he found the mention of the name 'Weatherby' so funny.

"I can't believe that you _like_ Professor Coulter," Bran whispered, incredulity emphasizing every word of this statement. Night, looking quizzically over his notes, nodded in agreement. He was checking if he had – in fact – put in the right amount of the blue liquid – the copper sulfate.

The water elemental blinked in bemusement. "How can a person **not**?" He gesticulated madly, trying to convey his feelings. "I mean, look at her!" They all turned to observe their teacher, who was currently demonstrating to a particularly nervous student that she cared about her students' grades and her classroom, preventing what could have been a disaster while commenting on the quivering pupil's lack of listening skills. Night had to admit that Professor Coulter was very attractive. That was a fact. But he couldn't ignore the _tiny_ detail that…she was **Professor Coulter**. And Professor Coulter was a class all her own. The spectacled woman stood now, arms crossed, the white lab coat she wore contrasting with her black slacks and dark blue turtleneck. "She's intelligent, beautiful, influential, and powerful! She's perfect!"

The chestnut-haired woman's glacial blue eyes looked up swiftly, so much so that Night swore that she heard Mordecai's last statement. "Freely, Ravencroft, Hawking! Less talking and more work!"

All three boys shared a look before returning back to their assigned task, amused smiles pulling at their lips.

Yes. Professor Lavinia Serafina Coulter, the Blue Dragon of the Arashi-Tenku Dragons, was without a doubt in a class of her own.

* * *

"See you guys, tomorrow!"

"Bye, Night!"

"Good luck on that math test tomorrow!"

"Yeah, see guys you later!" he called back, waving as he went his separate way from his friends, adjusting his backpack to a more comfortable position.

It was always a joy to walk down Hallenby Drive. It was a newer part of Grey Tower, the houses being built at the beginning of the century during the great Victorian era. Spacious verandas and porches, their elaborate balustrades sweeping and wide, bay windows gleaming in the light of the setting sun. The perfume of lilacs, the essence of the long gone summer, hung faintly, like a ghost, in the late afternoon air. The autumn flowers would be in full bloom in just a few days, turning the flowerbeds into a riot of pale yellows and purples. Dimly glowing were the lanterns on the old elaborate iron lampposts, the water within them beginning to gleam with light. Graceful willows lined the serene deserted avenue, their long leaves and branches swaying in the breeze.

It was also the best shortcut to get home.

Night inhaled the crisp October air, reveling in its sharp and invigorating chill. Nevertheless, he tightened the green and silver scarf around his neck and pulled the gray coat closer to his body to retain his body's warmth. It was an old coat, originally Tom's, and dramatic looking with its buckles and belts. But it was warmer than any coat he had. It was October after all, with apparently no chance of an Indian summer, projected to be an especially cold fall. It was in the low 10s right now. His blazer, black shirt, and black jeans wouldn't keep him completely comfortable. And should he ever be attacked (one never knew with the Phantoms about), the spells on the coat repelled them as well as protected him from any damage.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he continued down the empty street, enjoying each and every step he took. He never could exactly pinpoint why he enjoyed going home so much. Maybe it was the prospect of a delicious dinner lovingly cooked by his energetic grandmother. Or maybe it was the completely off-the-wall conversations that always took place when their eccentric neighbor, Hans Claybourne, came over for his dinner. Maybe it was just seeing his mother, whether it was when a smile graced her face when she heard his exploits at school or the stress of her own job. According to Gran, Zylle Hawking was always on edge and busy in the fall and spring, when the television seasons changed. It didn't matter to him though. He was always happy to see her.

A loud bark shattered his train of thoughts, causing him to jump in surprise. Alarmed, Night turned around and looked down. Right in front of him was a dog. A very _large_ dog, with black fur as dark as death and light-colored eyes staring up at him with an almost unnerving intelligence. Panting slightly, it looked positively thrilled to see him, the animal's tail wagging a mile a minute. It was so familiar…

_Light poured over the pebbles that made up gate, darkness surrounding him. He could hear his own heartbeat, wild and fast, in his ears. In the driveway of a suburban street, a large black dog stared back at him. Shocked, he stepped back…to trip over something…his arms flailing…_

_ A black dog waited for him at the end of a dusty road, its tail wagging, a rolled up newspaper in its mouth. It was waiting for him…he was happy to see it…_

With a start, he came back to the situation at hand. _What was that?_ The second vision was one that he knew. It was the only memory he woke up from his coma, the only link to his past that he had. Could this be the…_What am I thinking?_ He denied. _What are the chances that this is the same dog?_ Considering what limited knowledge he had on probability, the chances of that happening were very low. Bending down to one knee, he was eye level with the great beast and put out a hand. To his immense surprise, the dog completely ignored the hand, instead lifting its two front paws onto his shoulders and gave him a huge lick on the face.

"Yuck…" Night scowled, though he petted the dog affectionately. "I guess you like me, don't you?"

His answer? Another wet lick to the face.

"Alright, alright I get the picture," Night laughed. "Let's see who you belong to now-" A loud screech sounded from the air, causing him to look up. Hedwig, who had been flying while he had been walking (he noticed that either she or Shadow followed him to school everyday), was swooping down rapidly. Black tipped white wings were fully spread, amber eyes holding the almost predatory quality of a protective mother. Night frowned in confusion, before a large pop returned his attention to the dog again.

Except the dog wasn't there. A dark-haired man in crimson red robes, clear blue eyes focused completely on him, replaced the friendly animal. The grip on his shoulders was almost vice-like, causing him to wince in pain. He didn't react, couldn't, the signals from his brain drawn to an utter halt. This stranger, like the dog, was familiar. He knew this man…trusted…

But Hedwig wouldn't react like that unless it was a threat. She was his spirit guardian, the one that protected him. Blinking back to the world, he began to struggle, trying to throw off the man's grip. He managed to get free and stand, but the man grabbed him tightly by the wrist while reaching into one of his robe's pockets. Dark shapes were appearing at the now lit windows, several doors slamming open. "Get away from me!"

It was the last thing he said before the world was abruptly thrown off balance.

_Terror…fear…something was going to happen. Something bad…_

_ Death…it was happening again.___

As the world continued to swirl in this frightening chaos, he collapsed from the shock, not feeling the arms that caught him, as everything turned black.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey screamed as two people and a screeching owl suddenly appeared in her pristine white realm, the infirmary of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The long bearded older man in the dark purple robes merely sipped the cup of tea with incredible aplomb. But he was expecting them after all, taking a final sip of the Earl Grey before standing up. The man in the red robes was obviously Sirius Black, one arm thrashing wildly to dispel the attacks of one snowy owl, the other holding an unconscious young man with a small thin frame and telltale messy black hair. He frowned at the streaks of gold and silver running through the dark strands, but decided that for the moment, what Harry chose to do with his hair was not of any great importance.

With a wave of his wand, he froze the agitated avian. The matron went forward immediately, picking up and laying the animal on a bed. Her face contained skepticism and the headmaster noticed that the owl's wings were twitching slightly. But that was impossible…

"Thank you, headmaster," Sirius sighed, readjusting his hold on the still prone Harry. "Is that Hedwig?"

"I do believe it is," Dumbledore mused. "But if memory serves me right, Hedwig was killed by Dursley during the summer…maybe Harry has gotten himself another one."

The younger man snorted, all the while trying to keep Harry away from the fussing healer. "Damn good replacement, I can't tell the difference. But if he did get one, why didn't he contact us?" More struggle. "I'll handle it, Poppy! He's my godson!"

"I don't care if he's your honest-to-goodness son, Sirius Black! Hand him over to me and -"

A sharp crack issued from the area where Hed- no, the mysterious owl was. When he turned to inspect the noise, however, nothing had changed.

That wasn't necessarily the case with another person in the hospital wing, though.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when the boy in question violently pushed himself away from his godfather, sharp green eyes that were as trademark as the now revealed thunderbolt scar on his forehead was. But there was something undeniably wrong. Those green eyes were…different, swiftly surveying the infirmary while also keeping a suspicious eye on them. His expression hardened when he saw the state of the owl.

He expected some joy, at least relief, but not the anger he could feel radiating from the boy. It was then that he noticed the boy's attire. Specifically, the distinctly Slytherin house scarf wrapped around Harry's neck. Was it an enchantment of some sorts?

_What happened to you, Harry?_

"Harry," Sirius began, his hands raised in a placating manner, but was interrupted.

"Where the hell am I," the boy heatedly hissed. "and who are all of you."

* * *

Sorry for being so late about this. Thanks for waiting for it. I might go AWOL again soon, seeing that I was given three more projects and have finals to worry about now. I can't wait for summer! I'd finally be free of that.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Now, I have to go do a World History project and prepare for an English one.

This is in Celsius degrees. According to the converter, this would correspond to "low 50s" on the Fahrenheit scale.

**The link to my Yahoo! Group is on my profile.**

Raven Dragonclaw


	2. Should've Known Better

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except plotlines, clans and their members, and Grey Tower along with any characters that you don't recognize.

* * *

**Elemental Prophecies**

* * *

Chapter Two: Should've Known Better 

_There was no risk that I wouldn't take  
__Not a promise that I didn't make  
__All I asked was that you just hold on  
__Now I'm wondering what I did wrong  
__  
Should've known better  
__Than to fall in love with you  
__Now love is just a faded memory  
__Should've known better  
__Now I'm a prisoner to this pain  
__And my heart sill aches for you_

_ -_"Should've Known Better" by Richard Marx

* * *

She was a tall, regal woman with strands of silver within the black and dark brown hair, her face holding a timeless dark beauty. Melania, the goddess of darkness, strode down the marble halls of her castle in the land of the dead; the stars shining their ethereal light through though the windows. The forest green fabric of her gown swept across the floor, the black cloak that was draped over her shoulders. Her gait was swift, angry and purposeful, her expression of that of tight annoyance. A set of doors burst open at her approach, leading into the Great Hall of Annuvin, the sweeping staircase and the large entries at the top of the stairs and within the large portico. She was making her way across the enormous room when a grumpy voice called out to her.

"I hope you were actually doing something constructive while you were out. Not that you usually do anyway."

She scowled at Black Wolf, the persistently caustic statuette that sat on the stairway. It never liked anyone, least of all herself. The only exception to that rule was her mother, probably due to the fact that her father would have probably destroyed the spirit if the venerable goddess of the night had not intervened. "Unfortunately, I haven't. But it's hardly my fault!" she defended, angrily. "Eris says she wants to speak to me and never shows up! But it isn't as if I like talking to the goddess of discord, anyway."

All that time she spent waiting. Styx was hardly a river that she usually liked to be near, even if she were dark. No god or goddess did, neither light nor dark. Its waters were binding, the most sacred of covenants always sworn on the cursed black waters. She herself had been bound to several promises through the dark power of the Styx. They weren't pledges that any immortal enjoyed taking.

It was a horrible time. The river gave no sustenance to the land, but fed upon it. Unlike Annuvin, which was the land of the dead, the earth that Styx flowed through was barren and desolate. The only plant life that managed to grow in that inhospitable soil were twisted and deformed, their leaves and stems brown and withered. Rolling clouds perpetually loomed in that realm's sky, the thunder sometimes so loud in volume that the ground trembled from its strength. The only place of refuge was a small shrine, built on a precarious cliff ledge, consisting of only a simple stone altar reaped with such trifles as maryoku and vivere crystals. It was a wide spread belief that the magic and life energies contained within those stones would appease whatever nature the river possessed, maybe even nullify the oaths made.

But it was useless to ever think such a thing. Styx was a ruthless mistress, blind and pitiless justice personified.

"You know sometimes I wonder even _why_ I put up with you."

"First of all," she pointed out dryly. "You're part of _my _staircase. And second, who is putting up with who, here?"

"I won't even bother. Because you were out, doing **nothing** I might add, a message came for you." The wolf statue bristled visibly in indignation. "I am not your answering machine and that blasted bird shouldn't peck me in the head just because I said that she could stand to lose some weight!"

"Bird?" Melania questioned, pointedly ignoring the rest of the surly spirit's rant.

"White Owl. Apparently, some bloke named Sirius Black kidnapped your little descendant from wherever you had hidden him away and brought him straight to Hogwarts." The wolf paused. "Black. Same as Nathaniel Black, which was that alias that good-for-nothing god of death took when he went to Earth twice? Figures. Even his _descendants_ are trouble! That must've been why Eris never showed. She'd tricked you, girl."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S AT HOGWARTS?!"

"I'm not repeating myself again, you know. And I think you got the gist of the situation already."

* * *

"I'm going to find that worthless, self-centered, and absolutely mental, idiotic excuse for a wizard and when I do, he's going to know exactly **why I am the Black Dragon**!"

The water held in the streetlights of Hallenby Drive glowed brightly in the falling dusk, colored circles painting the road in their luminance. Of the houses that were lined down Hallenby, many curious eyes were peeking through the blinds and curtains of their windows, their shadows giving them away. There was a reason for why they did not join the small group of people clustered outside on the sidewalk. A deathly cold wind gusted down the avenue, so strong that the trees bend precariously, close to breaking, leaves tearing off of their branches. Of the individuals that were gathered around this area, six being the leaders of the Arashi-Tenku Dragon clan, none were surprised at all by this occurrence. Wind elementals sometimes transferred their rage to their element when they were mad.

Or, as in the case of wind elemental Zylle Hawking, when they were enraged.

She paced in short, angry strides, her high heels clicking loudly in the silence that pervaded the street. Her dark hair was in disarray, made messier by the wind, and her gray eyes were flashing in unadulterated fury. Zylle's suitcase was abandoned on the lawn of a house, the professionalism that exuded from her bright scarlet jacket and matching knee-length skirt making the woman seem even more intimidating. Her long cashmere waistcoat was unbuttoned and open, moving with her as she strode two and fro in her incensed state. Though most agreed that she had a reason for being in such a mood. Her son, albeit adopted but her son nevertheless, was just kidnapped off the streets of Grey Tower Town. If one was taken, how safe were their other children?

And the deeper worry of what was happening to her son was also preying on her mind. She never really forgot how he arrived in Grey Tower, in that whirlwind, bleeding and half-dead. What if those people that had done that before wanted him back? And would she find the boy that she held dear to her heart dead this time?

_Don't think about that!_

"Don't worry, Zylle," Hans Claybourne, in his typical violent lime green bathrobe and slippers, said confidently, his slight German accent more noticeable in his belief. "We'll get Night back." The elemental beside him, the owner of the house where the abduction took place, looked over at him with silent awe and blatant disbelief. The older man, with his eccentric personality, wasn't one that many believed to be one of the most influential elementals of this time. Yet, this man (who had a habit of donning a saucepan as a hat) was indeed, that important.

Beside him, Sarah Hawking agreed silently, the lines of her face set in the determined fashion that all who knew her well recognized that she wasn't going to give in lightly. "You said that you think you know how they vanished?" she asked, kneeling down to touch the place where her grandson had vanished. The aura of wizard magic stood out to all of them, completely foreign and strange to an area where elemental magic reigned supreme. She recoiled from the magical spore when she tried to touch it with two curious fingers.

Hans nodded grimly. "They call it a 'portkey', I believe. Some enchanted item takes them from one place to another. I may be wrong, it's been quite a few years since I was around wizards."

"But how did he get through?!" Zylle demanded, ceasing her pacing. "We've warded Grey Tower against Phantom Elementals and all wizards that are part of our own community or relatives that we trust. How could he have gotten through those, if no one knows who he is?"

A red-haired woman, striking in a butter-colored leather jacket and a long black skirt, also knelt down towards the strange remnants of that foreign magic with curiosity. "That man I told you about, who I fought while the finals were going on – Sirius Black. He managed to get through the wards. Saying that he was looking for you, Zylle. Something about a person named 'Harry'." She emphasized the next part, "He was wearing _red_ wizard robes."

"That doesn't explain the breaching of the wards, Mirai," Jonathan Smythe pointed out, looking up at the now greenish-light emitting from the streetlamp. "It only means that he had come through once before. And the wards were up during that time, I believe. How did he get through?"

The icy voice of Lavinia Coulter answered stoically. "Maybe he has some elemental power. You said that when he vanished, it was in a burst of flames." The blue-eyed brunette leaned against one of the posts belonging to the houses, her white lab coat standing out in the early evening. "Your son was a wizard, maybe there are others that are – "

"ZYLLE!" the buoyant voice of a man called from down the street.

Not even turning around to look, Zylle cursed under her breath. "Not Crowley. Please not Crowley. I **do not** need this right now…"

"Who does?" her mother muttered.

"Zylle!" the newcomer, a handsome blond man with a flirtatious grin on his face, skidded to a stop in front of her. "I had just heard what happened –"

"Wonderful," Lavinia interjected. "Don't we all just _love_ gossip?"

Crowley shot the chemistry professor a glare, which she shrugged off with grace. "It was a wizard, right? That's what everyone is saying."

"Yes, Crowley," Zylle ground out in frustration. "It was a wizard."

"Well, your son was a wizard before that freak accident brought him here, right? He's back with his own kind! Maybe it's best that – OW!"

Whatever David Crowley had to say was silenced by a swift punch in the face, in which he fell to the ground sprawling. If anyone was listening they would have heard him dazedly muttering about fairies, but no one was really paying attention to the fallen leader of the Rekka-Ki. Zylle, massaging her knuckles, gave the group a cursory glower, daring anyone else to say anything. Granted, it was ruined by the loud exclamation of "That's my girl!" and "Idiot deserved that one!" by Sarah and Hans.

"What's that cat doing?" Zylle's attention turned downward at the sight of the family cat. The black feline was sniffing the magical signature and then looking at the sky with narrowed vivid green eyes. She could have sworn that the gold tips of its ears and tail were glowing. The moment was shattered when Shadow hissed in a feral manner, something she had never heard the cat do before. It swished its tail in agitation before leaping on to her shoulder, its slinky body tense and on edge.

The message was as clear as day. That cat knew where Night was.

Wizards and elementals had rarely ever gotten along. Countless centuries ago, when magic was more common and viewed with less prejudice, the two used to coexist with each other. But the two types of magic became too different to deny, the theories of the wizards going against many of the unwritten laws of nature that the elementals followed, and so the wizards and elementals going their divergent ways. Eventually, the wizards hid away and then forgot about the other group. The elementals, whose primary location in England was the community of Grey Tower Town outside London, were actually pleased by this development.

That had changed recently, with the new rise of the Phantom Elementals and this new 'dark lord' that they now paid allegiance to. One of their own was in the clutches of a wizard, the son of one of the most influential clan leaders, and the successor to the post of Black Dragon.

Zylle, however, was livid and wanted her son back. And if that meant following a cat and razing the entire area where her son was kept, so be it.

But one thing was for sure: that wizard in the red robes – Sirius Black – was going to get it.

* * *

A handsome young man in black robes and cloak stood on top of the highest onion dome of St. Basil's Cathedral, looking over the lights of Moscow. The crescent moon, a sliver of white nearly hidden behind the veil of nebulous clouds, adorned the night sky in its simple mystery. Dark blue eyes, flecked with gold and silver, closed briefly, reveling in the darkness of the nightfall, a small contented smile gracing his face. An errant breeze from the west ruffled his unruly black hair, causing his cloak to billow in the zephyr.

A hand reached into a pocket, drawing from the depths of his robe a small drawstring bag of unknown material. Nimble fingers undid the shining silver thread, opening the small pouch, before turning it slightly so its contents would fall into his hands. Silver colored sand poured slowly until he had a small pile in his palm, shining in the dark, a radiant unearthly beauty contained in every grain. With practiced poise, he brought the pile to his face. He blew gently and the sand was dispersed over the luminous city, the particles making an earthy river of silver before descending to the earth like slowly falling stars. Nodding in satisfaction, the man closed the pouch and placed it in his pocket once more. He looked prepared to jump of the dome, when a cheerful voice broke the silence that he had visibly enjoyed.

"Oy! You're still working?! Take a break, or better yet, a vacation!"

The man stopped in mid-action, placing his foot back down on the solid colored surface, and an expression of exasperation crossing his face to stay. With a flurry of cloak and robes, he turned around to see his double. There were some differences between them, but these were more of mannerisms than features. The newcomer's face was open, smiling enigmatically, his movements just a bit sharper, a little more danger veiled in good humor. He also wore mostly muggle clothes: a long black coat, a white shirt, and dark blue jeans, a black cloak identical to the first's thrown over his shoulders. Other than that, they were practically identical.

"You know that I can't very well just decide to take off," the first chided. "I actually do my job _unlike_ you."

"Why does _everyone_ comment on my taking of little breaks?" the other sighed out.

"Because," the first said dryly, "you spend what time you should be doing your work to annoying the rest of us. Go do your job."

"Just because you're older by a few paltry minutes doesn't mean you can order me around, Hypnos," was the indignant reply.

"So, we're twins. Those minutes still count. I believe it gives me some degree of influence, Thanatos. Now what have you done this time? Or do I want to know? Your shenanigans during the 1800s were enough for people to lose sleep over. **Particularly **what you pulled when you visited Singapore and Hong Kong."

Thanatos smirked mischievously. "What makes you think I did something?"

A harsh wind blew between the two, identical twin brothers, so alike and yet so different.

Sleep and Death stood on equal ground.

"Because you look like a cat that just caught the mouse and finished it down with cream," Hypnos commented, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, locking onto blue eyes that were the same shape and color as his were. "Seriously, can you for once in your existence give a straight answer? _What did you do?_"

* * *

Screams filled the air, high and full of unimaginable pain, ripping at the souls of all who heard them. In the quickly darkening sky, a symbol of a skull and snake sparkled, emerald stars twinkling grimly against the purpling heavens, spectators of the evils of mankind.

Of course, they did not affect those whose hearts were tainted with the love of evil. Nor did they extract any kind of sympathy for a being that did not have a soul at all.

A family was surrounded by a group of black-cloaked specters, white masks serving as the blank ruthless visages that covered their base humanity. The small family was unmagical in everyway, but they stood together, two trembling children hidden behind their crying mother and their father, standing tall, wielding a large meat cleaver. Its blade glimmered in the pale lights that lit the tips of their attackers' wands, the last defense against the hunters. Their home was torn asunder: the front door was lying on the floor in splinters, furniture upended, glassware and crystal shattered, walls were riddled with holes, the television and light bulbs blown. A family portrait hung over the mantle of what used to be a majestic fireplace was slashed and ripped to shreds.

The black-cloaked murderers moved aside, revealing a shadow in the door. When the figure stepped into the light, the father dropped his weapon in a silent scream. His wife behind him gasped, wails issuing from the mouths of his children.

Before them was not a man, but a monster. Pale skin, white and holding a dry scaly quality, was stretched tightly across the skull of a fiend, his nose flat like that of a snake's. A thin mouth was smiling in a sinister fashion, grotesque joy contained within that small curve of lips. Red eyes, the pupils were slits like those of a cat's, did not hide the delight that beastly figure was feeling. Pale spidery figures grasped a wand, glinting a blood red in a ruthless metallic luster. The body of the man was lost in the voluminous robes, almost as deep a black as those worn by the Grim Reaper himself.

"So," the nightmare made reality said cackling, his high-pitched voice making all those with him become uneasy. "This is Silvanus Fudge? The brother of that inept excuse of a minister, Cornelius Fudge?" He then laughed, his mirth carrying into the murderous silence. "The squib?"

"Please," the man pleaded. "I'm the one you want, right? Let my family go! They've done nothing! They have nothing to do with anything!" The last was a desperate appeal; the man was on his knees, begging.

Voldemort laughed once again. "Do you honestly _think_ I would spare your pathetic muggle family? I am Lord Voldemort!" That cruel smile appeared once again. "If you must blame anyone, blame your idiotic brother. He is partly the reason why you – and your family – will not see tomorrow." He brought up his wand, their deaths certain.

The Maleficus watched with glee as the slaughter took place before his eyes. Four bodies fell to the ground, lifeless, their eyes blank, the faces capturing the primal essence of fear for eternity. After the Death Eaters and their Lord had left, the handsome man with the black armor and insect-like wings approached the abandoned corpses. He stood above the fallen body of Silvanus Fudge, his mirthful smile still on his face. A tanned hand, covered in a multitude of scars and healed cuts, reached out to grasp something from the air. A small globe of yellow light appeared in his hands, solidifying into a golden star-like crystal, its radiance now illuminating the entire wrecked house in a serene light.

The air around him shimmered and two more figures appeared beside him, a man and a woman. They were like him in their black armor and wings, their jovial grins at the sight of the carnage that had taken place both within and outside the walls. The first Maleficus closed his hands around the crystal, squeezing it, attempting to shatter it.

A flash of silver light enveloped the three, causing them to close their eyes and scream. Their shrieks reverberated through the earth, the sky, and the frightful sound making blood of any kind run cold with dread. The first Maleficus dropped the crystal, before the trio of winged evil spirits disappeared. Two figures then appeared in the destroyed home, their gray cloaks covering their all-black attire. One was a girl with a curvaceous figure, long auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, her amber eyes surveying the area. The other was also a girl, but she was taller and leaner, with the look of a tough athlete. Her skin was dark brown, her eyes a similar color, strength radiating from every part of her manner. Simple clips held her black hair back.

The gloved hand of the pale-skinned girl gently picked the crystal up, bringing it up to her face for examination. The auburn-haired one sighed with relief. "We got here just in time, Falcifer."

Falcifer snorted. "I say that we're pretty lucky then. What is this, the sixteenth one this month?" She raised her hands towards the heavens, a fierce glare sent towards the heavens. "We aren't exactly in our true forms! We would've been able to do this before, but not in these weak mortal bodies." The black girl then turned to the other, her gaze intense and inquiring at the same time. "When did Darius say that we get back our real forms, Megami?"

Megami shrugged. "We don't know. The Relics of Judgment have yet to reveal themselves." Her gaze turned towards the lifeless Silvanus Fudge. "I think when all the loyal Harbinger souls that underwent the Verdict have returned to full consciousness is when it all happens. And there are still quite a few of us that aren't awakened yet."

"And I bet one of them is Nuitari. Right when we need the little bugger, he doesn't show. Great. Bastard."

"C'mon, let's return to Empire City." Megami turned a doleful glance at the golden crystal. "We've done our work. Now we need to awaken Isaiah."

"Good," Falcifer muttered. "Just what I need. Someone else mentioning this stupid reincarnation change again. It didn't help that freakin' Hiroshi actually _laughed_ for once in his life. Moronic, macho, dogmatist idiots!" She stamped an offended foot to the ground. "They think it's easy being a female?!"

"Welcome to the club. Really, I don't think Isaiah would do that. Besides, he might already know. He is the Prophet Harbinger."__

* * *

The white was oppressive, its brightness stinging his eyes. Where was he? Beds lined the sides of the room, windows letting in the waning afternoon light of the setting October sun. Jars and bottles of multicolored potions glimmered in liquid hues. On one of the beds, prone and still, lay his faithful owl Hedwig. He had her to thank after all for returning to consciousness. When she did whatever magic she had done, he received a jolt of intuition that he should leave her behind and get out. He felt her presence gone though…her body was there…but where...

"Harry-"

Night's attention snapped up again to the strange people. There was a plump-looking woman, wearing a kind of nurse's uniform, looking at him with concerned eyes. Another was an old man, his beard snow white and long enough to tuck into the belt of his robes, half-moon spectacles sitting on a long nose that looked as if it had been broken quite a few times. The one that spoke was the man that brought him here, the one that changed from that familiar dog into his abductor. Was this a trick? To lure him in with something that was vaguely familiar to this unknown place?

"Where the hell am I," he demanded, his voice hissing angrily, "and who are all of you?"

This seemed to catch the others by surprise. Well, most of the group. The old man in the purple robes looked more sorrowful than shocked. The woman or nurse – whoever she was – gave a short gasp before sinking onto one of the beds, her hands held to her mouth in a horrified stare. The man in red made no move: his face went pasty white and his blue eyes seemed to be lost, seeing _through_ him.

"Hogwarts, Harry," the older man said into the tense silence. "This is Hogwarts. Your home." He gestured around the white room, a type of infirmary or hospital wing. Needless to say, he preferred the more comfortable and less glaring rooms of the hospital at Grey Tower than this one. Cleanliness seemed to overload the senses, the scent of pine and lemon cleaner a fierce contrast to the crisp cool air and the perfume of late roses and lilacs that had pervaded Hallenby Drive.

Hogwarts. _There is a school up north for wizards; the name is something dealing with a pig. But when we sent our kids there, they were constantly sick. _That wizarding school to the north Gran had talked about before. "My home," Night replied back, "is Grey Tower." He backed up from them towards the wall, a bad feeling twisting the insides of his stomach. Behind his silver rimmed glasses, he kept alert emerald green eyes on all of them. "And I'm not Harry!" he affirmed forcefully. "I'm Nuitari Hawking!"

The adults shared a look, the eyes of the older man hardening to a determined clear blue. "Don't move, Harry," he said, his voice oddly calm. So much so that Night was immediately tensed for anything. A wrinkled hand reached into his purple robes, a thin wand slipping out of a pocket. "This won't hurt at all."

As quick as lightning, the white-colored jet of light was reflected off a shield of swirling winds, his dark hair lifting slightly as the zephyrs churned and whirled around him in a protective dome. The pages of an open book on a desk were fluttering, the loose papers falling to the floor, the curtains around a few beds moving in the breezes. The sizzling of the diverted spell was loud in the deathly silence, the impeccable white of one of the walls charred with black.

It was at that moment when he felt something…something undeniably _wrong_.

Beneath his control, he could feel his magic being twisted and pulled, so much so that it made him cry out in pain. The pain culminated into his right hand, vicious slice marks appearing on his lower right arm and his wrist, as if slashed by a razor-sharp invisible edge. Blood gushed from the deep wounds in torrents, the red liquid of life dripping off his arm and pooling onto the floor. The bottles of potions were shaking violently before being flung towards him, shattering against his wavering shield of wind in multicolored splashes.

Cursing quite eloquently, he opened his mouth to demand that the wizards stop their assault on his person immediately. However, it was easy to see that they weren't doing it. All three of them were chanting spells to block the potions, to stop the beds from flying at him, to prevent the scalpels that were shooting out of the desk from impaling him. They weren't the ones doing this at all. But then, why was he the only one being attacked?

_ There's just something there at that particular school that causes them to be ill. If they aren't sick, they attract trouble like the plague…there is a presence there that does it. It reacts to our children, who though can't use elemental magic, have it in their blood._

Was it reacting to him? Those who weren't ill attracted trouble, according to Gran. And as he winced, barely avoiding a nasty potion that hissed and shot up smoke as it floor, he definitely qualified **this** as trouble. Granted, he assumed this was a bit more extreme than Gran had put it. Maybe it was because he didn't just have it in his blood, but because he could use it as well.

It made a bizarre sort of sense. It all started when he summoned the air shield. It was the only thing that he could do. Especially, he noted with some contempt, the wizards obviously weren't going to succeed in preventing _their_ castle from killing him. And they claimed that this was his home?! He felt that he knew himself reasonably well and was very sure of the fact that he was not a masochist. Training sessions with his mother or Professor Coulter did not qualify.

Taking a deep breath and readying himself to move, he prepared to let down the air shield, all the while grasping the hurt arm that was throbbing in agony. Waiting for the right moment, the air shield disappeared. Abruptly, the chaos ceased. Whatever objects that were previously airborne crashed to the ground, courtesy of gravity. The beds stopped moving, the windows ceased their fierce shuttering, and the bottles of potions stopped flinging themselves at him. The once impeccably neat and functional infirmary was destroyed.

Night was not concentrating on that, though. Widened eyes were focused on the steel scalpel embedded deeply in the wall, in the space right where his head was. Undoubtedly, a close one.

A strong calloused hand fell onto his shoulder, catching his attention immediately. Looking up, he found the man in the red robes looking at him with concern and worry, something he recognized instantly, largely because the same emotions showed in Zylle's face whenever something happened to him. He blinked languidly; green meeting blue, trying to figure out why he was feeling déjà vu. Had this had happened before…the man had changed into a strikingly familiar animal…maybe these people did know him…but the memories…

"Harry, are you alright?"

Whatever revelation had just been barely beyond the grasp of his mind's fingers flew away again, like the ever-elusive shadow of the moon. Night roughly shook off the hand and made for the door, jumping over two beds (one in its proper place, the other crashed in the middle of the room), evading the two red spells that he knew to be stunners and a pair of hands that tried to grab him before he could escape.

But he was a wind elemental and wind elementals were naturally speedy and quick. In no time, he was on the other side of the room, approaching the doors, the other three running to catch up with him. He ignored the pain that was stabbing through his entire right arm, disregarding the blood spilling from the open wounds, a hand reaching out to grasp the handle of the door-

It was just his luck that the door decided to burst open at that moment. He was flung immediately backward, the edge of the door catching him excruciatingly on the chin, so that he went sprawling onto the floor of the hospital wing.

_What is this 'Kidnap and Attack Night' day?!_

Gingerly trying to sitting up with an injured arm, he was once more struck by the amazing fortune that he had missed the scalpel lying not three inches from where he fell. He was being helped up into a sitting position by the younger man again, the woman now fussing over him like an overprotective mother hen. Night balked at the reprimanding glare that she was giving him. _What?! I didn't ask to be attacked! You people brought me here in the first place!_ The old man, was kneeling down beside him, carefully examining the silver and green scarf wrapped around his neck, analytically scrutinizing the fabric through those glasses. Why, he didn't know. And in addition to a hurt arm, his chin now joined the list of injuries.

"Headmaster, Silvanus Fudge has just been – **Potter?!"**

The loud exclamation brought the already pissed-off Night to look upward, annoyance clearly showing in his face. Towering above him was a man in pure black robes and sallow skin, his face showing a distinct expression of shock that didn't seem to fit his demeanor. He had greasy black hair, his nose decidedly hook-shaped. Where was the decency here? Not even one 'sorry' from this guy? Who taught him manners, a goat?

Wait, wouldn't be demeaning to the goat?

Why was Night being so antagonistic? He felt he had the right to be. His escape was thwarted by this man just swooping in like bat and then settling for just staring at him. He would bet anyone else in his situation wouldn't be too happy either.

"Potter. I can't believe it. Black finally found Potter. It's a miracle. So did this 'woman' Black was searching all over the greater part of England for the key as he thought?" the man sneered. Black, whom Night assumed his kidnapper was, growled in a very dog-like manner, dislike practically painted in large letters on his forehead.

"You were saying, Severus?" the old man asked, still looking over the scarf. He would have grabbed it away, but that infernal woman kept poking at his right arm and Black had a firm hold on both, so the left arm was out of the question as well.

"Silvanus Fudge is dead. Elementals are thought to be the culprits, though they weren't the ones who did most of the damage. They said something about those missions being 'beneath their dignity to even think of deeming it worth their time.' So far, all I've seen of those infernal people have just shown them to be a bunch of arrogant imbeciles with a lot of firepower."

"Hey! Wizards, here!" Night interjected crossly, drawing the surprised glances of all four adults. "In case you haven't notice between kidnapping me, knocking me out, your castle attempting to kill me, and this guy sending me flying by being in my way, I'm an elemental!" Four amazed blinks. Well, if he was stuck here for the moment, he might as well make sure that he would give them a hard time of it. "And you're one to talk," he continued. "Like we would even care to associate someone who opens a door in someone's face and doesn't even apologize about it. No, he goes on and insults him like a complete and total ignoramus!" Under his breath, Night muttered audibly, "Loser."

This Severus character gave him a cursory glance before turning to the old man. "This isn't Potter."

"I've been saying that. But none of you seem to be **listening** to little ole me, now are you?"

"The Potter I know is disrespectful, but not **that** much," Severus continued, ignoring him. Black really wasn't paying attention to the man either, stuck between glaring at the greasy-haired man and at him. "And Potter isn't smart enough to know what an ignoramus is to even spell it, much less say it. Though I doubt this look-alike does either."

"For your information, I-G-N-O-R-A-M-U-S," Night taunted, once more getting annoyed at the fact that he was being treated as both a fragile child and as if he weren't there. "Or maybe I am wrong. It may be Y-O-U."

A scowl was sent his way, which was received with a stoic glare. "See?!" Severus maintained. "Not Potter."

"We've already established that! I'm Nuitari Hawking and I have no idea who you people are!"

"Shush, child," the woman scolded, "you're just confused! Everything will be fine in a moment and we'll get this all healed up! Such deep wounds, it's taking a while to heal. Why must you always get into trouble? You've always been a delicate boy…"

"I am not confused, you are! Wait…_delicate_? I am not delicate!"

The old man was grinning slightly, shaking his head, which didn't help the aggravated teenager. "We believe that Harry maybe under a spell, possibly a Confudus charm or a strong memory charm. He was probably put into the care of the elementals by the Dark Lord to brainwash him to the dark side."

"Dark side? What is this, _Star Wars_? Lemme guess, this Dark Lord fellow is some kind of imitation-Darth Vader."

"Is it possible to break it?" Black put forward, the hands gripping Night's arms strengthening his hold. "He isn't going to be like this for his entire life, is he?" The expression on the red-robed man looked extremely grim, his eyes shadowed.

"Hopefully not, Sirius."

"Elemental to wizards, elemental to wizards. I'm Nuitari Hawking, not whoever this other kid is! Is this getting through?" He winced as the nurse swatted his shoulder, he had moved too much. So far, three of the wounds were healed. There were still a multitude of them left, including two nasty looking ones carved right on the inside of his wrists, a facsimile of an "X" engraved into his flesh.

Black suddenly yelled out, "What do you think you're doing, Sna-"

A wand was pointed in between his eyes, the hook-nosed man saying, "_Legilimens!_"

The Legimens spell. Tom had mentioned that during his lessons. They were actually going to try that soon, but it was difficult. It wasn't as if Night could practice it on anyone around him after all. Images of a person's mind were made visible to the spellcaster…

He needed to do something. They could find out where the leaders of the clan lived! Concentrating, he tried to summon a shield of some kind. Maybe he would get lucky and one of those killer objects would hit the infuriating man over the head.

That was the idea, until he noticed the vestiges of silver at the edges of his vision beginning to cloud over everything else…

…_Mirage Searle stood on the deserted Shade Boulevard, when it was in its prime, standing tall and proud, though beaten and bleeding in tattered and slashed black clothing. Laughing, she then smirked, saying, "Am I **really **the only Sekai-Kage Wolf left?"…She, a man, and a young boy were walking down a busy shopping street, but the young man's eyes kept drawing to a darker street…A funeral, the son grown up, the grandson holding the hand of an older Mirage…_

"What the hell did you do, Snape?!"

Everything came back into solid focus. He blinked and tried to rub his eyes, but his arms were still held back. Worse, Severus' eyes were looking directly into his own, the man kneeling to look at him at an equal level.

"I didn't do anything, Black! He said he was an elemental, have you ever thought they would react differently to different spells?!"

"He isn't an elemental, he's a wizard, you greasy-haired git! And you must've done **something** wrong because no one's eyes ever turn **silver** when they're under that spell!"

"Face it, Black, you kidnapped some random kid! If the Headmaster would allow me permission, I'd like to ask the boy – whoever the brat is – something that has been on my mind for a long time. It appears that he holds the answer to my questions."

"If you feel it's necessary, Severus. But I am quite certain that this boy is, indeed, Harry Potter."

"You, Potter, if it even is you," he whispered threateningly, drawing the glower of Black. Why was that man so protective of him anyway? "How do you know about the Sekai-Kage? Or Mirage Searle?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that, _Severus_?" he returned flippantly, refusing to be intimidated by the man's daunting black eyes. Professor Coulter's icy blues were in their own way more terrifying. Probably because she combined her punishments with ice in someway. And Night personally knew what the woman was capable of due to training, though she was probably not really fighting as if she would in an actual duel. It would be funny if both were potions makers. "Why would a wizard know about the last leader of a fallen elemental clan?"

It was a good question. But there were a few others that he would love to get answered quite soon. Ones that were more important. Who in the world was this 'Harry Potter'? And second, how was he going to get out of this mess?

* * *

Sorry for the long wait. I've had to take awhile to study for my finals and end-of-the-year tests. And my brother's high school graduation is today. Hope you can forgive me!

But enough about school. I'm finally out!

I hope you liked the chapter and I promise to get the next one out as quickly as possible. Updates and information on the Elemental series is available on my Yahoo!Group. The link is on my profile. You'll also find other stories that I have written there, including: Dark Reflections and the one for my Yahoo members: Celestial Requiem, a canon-sixth year where Harry writes under an alias to get his voice heard. It has gotten pretty good reviews so far, so check it out if you want. I may also post other stories, which may include some of the various prequels to Elemental Genesis, under there and not in

And **cloud**, who theorized about Hans' past, you're right! Congratulations for picking up on those tiny clues! But don't let it out!

--Raven Dragonclaw

7/15/2004 - I fixed a few errors that managed to slip by the editing process. Chapter Three is new, though. ---Raven


	3. Dirge

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me except plotlines, clans and their members, and Grey Tower along with any characters that you don't recognize. _Please read the prequel, Elemental Genesis, before reading this story._

* * *

**Elemental Prophecies**

* * *

Chapter Three: Dirge

_"Rough wind, that moanest loud  
Grief too sad for song;  
Wild wind, when sullen cloud  
Knells all the night long;  
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,  
Bare woods, whose branches strain,  
Deep caves and dreary main, -   
Wail, for the world's wrong!" _

- Percy Bysshe Shelley, Dirge

* * *

The door shut behind him, the sound ominously echoing in the dank hallways, the multiple clicks of locks following soon afterward. There was a brief pause, in which he heard a weary sigh, before the footsteps soon also drew away, drifting into a tense and ominous silence.

Night was not amused. To be put frankly, he was angrier than he had ever been in his short memory. He was kidnapped and now was forced to stay in this frightful wizarding castle. A ringing chime in the corner caught his attention: an ancient looking grandfather clock was proclaiming that it was 6 o'clock. He had been here a whole night and day already. Granted, most of those said times, he was either confined to a bed in that infirmary getting his arm bandaged or being interrogated. If things had not gone this way, if it was an ordinary day, he would be at home right now. Probably sitting at the dining room table, helping Gran distribute the servings of whatever delicious meal she had made. Hans would waltz in, grinning like a madman, plopping himself into a chair without so much as a by your leave, eagerly digging into the dinner. His mother Zylle would come in, tired-looking but in good cheer, giving him a kiss on the forehead before seating herself, asking about his day. He'd be happy to be home.

This was not his home. This was definitely not his home, despite what these wizards told him. His home was with his mother, his grandmother, and his grandfatherly neighbor. Not here, where he was taken by force, where he was not given a choice, where no one listened, where he was locked up in the bowels of the castle like some medieval prisoner.

Just because it was comfortable did not mean that he was to be placated. His quarters were predominantly in shades of red and gold, interspersed with mahogany colored furniture. The bed was a four-poster, deep red hangings and bedclothes, embroidered elaborately with gold thread. The thick carpeting was a deep burgundy, the walls a darkish-saffron hue. There were no windows, and even if there were, what would he see? He was underground and seeing plain earth would doubtlessly be a dull view. But even so, he would've liked one. Bookshelves lined part of the wall, next to a small desk and chair. It exuded opulence and comfort.

But he was not put at ease. He longed for the deep greens and cool grays of his room at 14 Zephyrus Court.

Unfortunately, he'd have to get used to this. Apparently, they were going to keep him here until they could figure out what to do with him – or, as he inferred from their words, when they managed to break the 'spell' that was supposedly cast on him to forget his past. Meaning, unless he became this 'Harry Potter' like they wanted him to be, he was not getting out of here. And admitting that he was some missing wizard was not something he was going to do. If he did that, they would watch him more closely and make sure that he would never get to see Grey Tower ever again. And Nuitari Hawking of the Arashi-Tenku was not going to let that happen.

Why that Severus person was so downright unpleasant was beyond him. Probably had something to do with that 'Potter' kid everyone here seemed so sure that was who he was. And the fact that he had talked back to him also might have had something to do with it. Well, demanding it was not going to get the information out of him, that was for sure. But what did he have to do with Sekai-Kage? His silver sight pointed to the direction that the disagreeable man was directly related – the grandson, more accurately – of Mirage Searle. But why did Mirage leave Grey Tower? And how did she get involved amongst the wizards? The known last moments of the Sekai-Kage sketchy at best and there were hardly any information on the members at all.

After quite a shouting match, in which it took all his self-restraint not to knock the greasy-haired git out with his uninjured left arm, he was brought here by the man that kidnapped him per orders of the old man: Black, or whoever. Needless to say, he did not like the doleful looks he was getting from that man. In a way, they made him feel guilty and remorseful, which was odd in itself. Why did he have to feel like that, when he had done nothing wrong?

Sure, there _was_ the possibility that he was this kid that they were looking for. Dr. Annie did say that he was a wizard when he was recovering at Grey Tower Sanctuary. And he wouldn't remember these people, due to his amnesia. But the thing was, did he _want_ to give up his new life? He was happy where he was. He had everything that he could ever want: a loving family, a home to return to, a lot of wonderful friends and acquaintances, good grades, and a promising future. Of course, he wouldn't want to throw all of that away! For what? He was found beaten and half-dead in a park and if not for Zylle, he would be pushing up daisies. And there was probably more to it than that alone. The conversation with the goddess of the night before the tournament was still fresh in his mind. She had said that it was better for him not to remember, that it was for his own good, as well as to protect himself from greater harm. And these people were trying to force him back into remembering once more.

He was told that cruelty was necessary.

That didn't mean that he had to like it.

Furiously, Night rounded on the door, giving the door a hard blow with his injured right arm. The wood creaked under his fist, but did not yield to the force. The bandages that were wrapped around his knuckles, unlike the dressings around the rest of his hands, wrists, and lower arm, took on a pinkish color. He cursed loudly, glaring at the appendage. It would be easy to break out using elemental magic, but he couldn't. Not without having the castle immediately try to murder him. Thankfully, he wasn't sick: just an uncomfortable headache now pounding away at his skull. But it could be worse. He had heard several other horror stories than the poor kid that had spontaneously combusted: the girl who became a tree and later died because some boys wanted to practice fire spells, a boy from a family of water elementals who was killed by some monster in a lake, another girl driven so far into insanity that she threw herself off the highest tower to escape it all.

He'd be out of here if it ever came down to that. At the moment, though, he would have to make do. Just because he didn't have his powers here, didn't mean that he couldn't create trouble. Night had already driven Severus to insurmountable heights of rage but just quipping back several witty remarks. It was a lesson that he had learned from his family and friends: nothing pisses off anyone more than a smart-alec. What was it that they had learned in history? Yes, Aristotle had said, _"Wit is educated insolence."_ Insolent, he was. Night was not going to answer their questions, especially those about elementals. If they were upset about that? Too bad, they were out of luck.

And he also still had the wand Tom had given him – which would probably come in handy. It was his trump card though and it probably wasn't the best time to reveal that yet. No, right now, he needed cool and ruthless strategy. He needed some way to get out of this room and get out here. Cunning would be the best way to go here. Certainly, he would love to blow the place up sky-high, but considering that he was only one person against a building of who-knew how many wizards while he only had wizarding magic to rely on? It would be best to do this covertly. Also, Zylle did say that the worst injuries a person could give was to their ego. Imagine those wizards surprise when they found their prisoner gone?

But he was thinking ahead of himself. Which at the moment was not what he needed. He needed to think of his present situation and make a decision based on that. Sighing, he made his way to the center of the room, slipping his backpack off his shoulders and removing his coat, placing them both by the nightstand. He sat on the bed in his usual clothing – which when he thought about it looked completely outlandish compared to the robes that the other wizards had worn. He rubbed his temples, trying to appease the raging storm of thought going through his mind as well as the monster of a headache. A hand reached down to the small mirror hanging from his neck. Green eyes were hopeful as he whispered softly, "Tom? You there?"

These aspirations were dashed. The glass flickered on like it usually did when Tom appeared to talk to him. He even swore he saw Tom's face for a brief moment, looking more worried than relieved, before the picture was sharply distorted to be replaced by a buzzing static. Obviously, the same thing blocking the elemental magic was also blocking the magic that was used to make contact into Lethe.

Night's expression fell – he was truly alone here. And his absence was definitely worrying Tom. It was pretty likely that his family was also worried about him. Would they know that he was kidnapped? A few people probably witnessed the abduction – he had made enough of a racket to alert at least one person. And he was the Black Dragon successor, as well as Zylle Hawking's son. That was bound to attract some level of attention. Would they come to collect him? What was going on at home?

He was thinking too much. One thing was clear: he needed to leave, the sooner, the better.

Reaching into his bag, his hands brushing against the textbooks and notebooks, as well as a few vials, he pulled out a small black object. Sliding a small red switch on the side, it expanded with a pop, the violin case now resized to its normal dimension. Opening the zipper, he took out the instrument and the bow, expertly positioning it under his chin, his fingers on the strings, his free hand holding the bow skillfully.

Hopefully, after playing the violin for a bit, his head would clear.

The bow hit the strings, pouring out a sad tune.

In his office, Raistlin Majere looked up from grading the papers of the first years, frowning in recognition. Alexandra Quinn paused abruptly in her candid conversation with some fourth-year Gryffindors. Brian Reginald stopped his tracks as he was making his way to the grounds for an evening walk. By the lake, Forrest Constantine glanced back at the castle after pursuing a stray spirit (and ignoring the plethora of girls that were unsuccessfully stalking him). In the Ravenclaw common room, Veda Kakar rose to her feet and exited the common room after leaving her homework out unfinished on the table, while Luna Lovegood closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Sitting with Hermione Granger in the Great Hall during dinner, Ron Weasley ceased in his devouring of meatloaf glance up, feeling the Feather in his pocket beginning to grow hot. Sirius Black suddenly fell off his seat in the middle of talking with Remus Lupin in the History of Magic classroom, looking around alarmed. Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were more than a little shocked after observing the actions of one Harry Potter in small viewing globe at the shrieking of the portrait of Phillandra Pheta Gryffindor, as it was consumed in black flames that did not spread to any other object or substance in the room. The phoenix Fawkes gave a mournful trill.

For the first time in about a thousand years, the violin melody known as _Night's Aria_ reverberated throughout the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

"I think we're going to get in trouble."

"Trouble? I think a more accurate connotation is that we're soon going to land ourselves headfirst into bloody crap."

"And **_I_** don't think it matters what we're going to call it, boys. Are you sure that this Pigworts place is where they've taken Night?"

"Hogwarts, and yes, I'm positive. Some of the contacts in the Ministry hadn't heard a word, but they said that the headmaster of that school does a lot of things on his own. And that he's a weirdo."

"Oh, like a wizarding version of Night's grandmother?"

"Yeah, I think that could work. But I doubt Night would be that cordial to him even if he was."

"True."

King's Cross was always filled with people. Of course, it was, it was a train station. Specifically, it was a train station at rush hour. Multitudes of people poured out of the train cars, edging out of the way for others to go inside. Most of them had the desire to just go home, weariness clear on the faces of many a person in a suit, but others were fresh-faced and cheerful – these being the younger student variety. Others were going to work. Either way, it was a beehive of activity. Among the throngs of people, three fifteen year-olds were huddled together with backpacks, waiting for the 6:15 train. One was a tall, well-built boy with spiky light brown hair in blue jeans, white shirt, and dark blue blazer. The light-blue eyed boy next to him was a redhead of average height and lean stature, wearing khakis and a black t-shirt, a deep red blazer under his arm. The girl had long deep brown hair that was pulled up in a ponytail and she straightened her plaid skirt and hunter green blazer self-consciously. On the left sleeve of each of the blazers was a dragon design, correspondingly blue, red, and green.

In this situation, they looked like ordinary students, just with strange school uniforms. But they weren't going home. In reality, they were quite far from their home and they planned to go even farther away. These teenagers were, respectively, Dragon Successors of the Arashi-Tenku clan of Grey Tower: Mordecai Freely, Bran Ravencroft, and Trina Smythe. Of course, the last of their group, one Nuitari Hawking was not among them.

Which was precisely the reason for why they were waiting on the platform for the 6:15 train to Glasgow.

The train pulled in with a noisy hiss and the three quickly moved to the last car, where it would be less likely that there would be passengers. Slipping in, barely because of their backpacks, they boarded the train and took the last seats near the end, setting their bags on the floor in front of them. As the train pulled out of King's Cross, there were only seven other people in their car. Two were old men, three were businessmen talking on their cell phones or typing away at their laptops, and the last two were a mother with her seven year-old. All of them were sitting quite a distance from them, so it was reasonably safe.

"My father," Trina said softly, "is going to **_murder_** me, I swear."

"No, he won't," Bran proclaimed, carelessly looking out the window. "You're an only child. He'll spare you. I'm dead because I have siblings to replace me."

Mordecai laughed lightly before he sobered. "What we should be worried about is how Ms. Hawking will react. She's already lost Night, what will she do when she finds that the three of us – the remaining future leaders – are gone as well?"

"We're getting our friend back," the redhead replied firmly. "And she's a leader as well, she'd do the same for Professor Coulter, Ms. Alucard, or Trina's dad if it had happened to them. We're getting back our own. There's no law against that."

Trina raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were the genius here? Ms. Hawking is the **Black Dragon** and told us **specifically** not to do anything rash. I think this qualifies as rash, as well as insubordination to a direct order."

"We're hardly doing anything rash," Mordecai countered, "if we have a plan."

"Which, I might add, we're making up as we go," Bran put in. "Is that rash?"

"Shut up, Bran," the taller boy muttered. "We're doing this for Night. Our loyalty to the clan is secondary in this respect."

"Got me there. So, did we get anything useful? Because I'm not busting in there just with an ego, as it seriously wouldn't do much in a fight."

Trina reached over to open her backpack. Motioning for the others to look inside, she rummaged around to show robes in black and dark blue. "I asked Stella Prewett if she had any extra when she visited Mr. Montague-Hillary this morning. There are some cloaks in there, too. When in Rome, right? I thought we'd stick out if we show up in regular clothing. I did ask her about Night and she said that the person that did kidnap him sounded like the wizard Ms. Alucard fought." The boys gave her a nod of approval, especially when she moved the garments to reveal several packages of food beneath it all, along with her schoolbooks. "What about you guys?"

Mordecai reached into his bag and pulled out three slim sticks of wood. Each one was of a different wood and length, polished and glinting in the setting sun. "I managed to get these from a cousin at Beauxbatons," he explained. "Had him send it over to me straight away, actually." Noticing the curious looks he was getting from his friends, he shook his head. "They're not real wands, they're fake ones. Jamie said they sell them in novelty stores and joke shops. They're supposed to do…something. But since we're not wizards, we don't activate it. Also, I got some food."

Bran smirked. "Apparently, food was on all of our minds. I got some, too, but you're all paying for my funeral if it ever comes to it." Riffling through his backpack, he pulled out a thin folder. He pulled out several papers and letters. "I give you," he whispered dramatically, "the directions to Hogwarts."

"The directions to what?" Trina asked, blinking demurely.

"Hogwarts!" Bran answered. "It's hard to find, we're not supposed to know where it is. The wizards are just as bad as we are when it comes to hiding, though they do a much worse and sloppier job. My dad asked my grandma for directions. She was taught there, so she'd know."

"But that was years ago," Mordecai pointed out. "How do we know she's right?"

"I trust my grandmother," Bran pouted.

Trina grabbed the papers out of Bran's hands and began sifting through them. "These are just estimates, Bran. It doesn't tell us how to get there exactly."

"I know. She gave the **_general_** area though. We need only poke around and we'd probably stumble upon it sooner or later. It's a giant castle and a town, for Pete's sake. Muggles may not be able to see it, but we're not muggles. We're elementals."

Mordecai sighed, leaning back in his seat, running his right hand though his short spiky hair. "I just hope this works. We've got the disguises and hopefully we'll be able to pass as them. But there are only three of us. And we're taking on a lot of wizards. Do you think we'll be able to get Night out of there?"

Bran shrugged, smirking. "It could be worse. 'Sides, I'm creating history here. You see, no matter what, something there is going to go down in flames and explosions." He was the recipient of two startled glances. "What? It's true! It's been years since a Ravencroft has done that!"

"Done what exactly?" Trina asked carefully, Mordecai leaning forward to better catch the reply.

"Well, remember I told you my grandmother was a witch, right?"

"Yeah…"

"They met in Bath – ironically, when my grandfather burned down part of the city against Phantoms – decided that they liked each other, dated, decided to get married, etc. Of course, he had to meet the family. My grandfather said he was a muggle, not elemental, you know, to see how they would react to a person that wasn't a wizard. Turns out, they hated him. They wanted her to marry some 'pureblood' wizard, who, according to Gramps, was inbred, prissy idiot. My grandma didn't put up with it. Gramps didn't put up with it either, so after thoroughly insulting every member of the family, he burned their manor home in Ottery St. Catchpole. I think that he drove them down to poverty, since most of their wealth was inside that house, not at the bank. Idiots. Then they eloped to Italy."

Mordecai laughed. "So, you're related to wizards?"

"Yep. Family name was 'Weasel', or something like that."

"Ah," Trina nodded, smirking. "Thinking of a family reunion, Bran?"

"You're joking, right?"

* * *

He did not like this. He did not like this at all.

Then again, Dudley Dursley was a normal teenage boy. Granted, even if he did hunt demons and have the ability to use spirit power, but he was still somewhat normal teenager. And no normal teenager would like to be hanging off of a hundred-foot sheer cliff, the only thing currently preventing him from falling into the craggy rocks below was a gnarled, dry branch that was growing from the rock just by luck. Actually, he did not think anyone did.

Ireland was beautiful, he would give it that. But when you're hanging off of a cliff

And gravity was definitely not on his side here. Sure, he had slimmed down quite a bit. But he was still slightly heavy. Sure, it weighed on his mind sometimes (excuse the pun), but hey! He had made a lot of progress! At least, he did not resemble a small blimp anymore. He was now more muscle than fat and he even impressed his doctor. Which was quite an improvement from about four months ago, when he was lying prone in bed waiting to die.

"Oy! Dudley! You okay, mate?" Jerry's voice was above him and he could just see the other demon hunter's head over the precipice. Alyce's face soon joined his, as well as Cami's, and even the dark appearance of Lirenas' countenance. As he shifted just slightly, the branch creaked, the roots breaking off of its precarious hold on the rock. Three gasps sounded from above, followed by the swift sound of argument.

"What are we going to do?! We can't leave him down there!"

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know, Alyce?"

"Well Jerry, if you hadn't freaked out over that giant wasp –"

"I don't know where you come from, demon, but here we like our bugs **_small and squishable!_**"

"Jerry, right now I don't think neither Dudley nor Lirenas care about your opinion on bugs. We should be worrying about Dudley's situation more."

"Cami, I'm yelling at Lirenas here…"

"Cami's right, Jerry, now stop yelling at Lirenas and start thinking of ways to help Dudley!"

"The girls have a point."

"Yes, they do!" Dudley yelled back up as the branch jerked once more. "Do you mind helping me here?!"

There seemed to be a consensus between the lot of them, but as Dudley was descending further and further down the cliff face, he was beginning to doubt that even with their help he was going be a goner. He looked down at the rocks below…they looked awfully sharp. Surely, there was some comfort in the fact that the demon was gone, dropped down to its death, but Dudley did not want to join it. He had cheated death once due to a deal with the Shadow Goddess and he meant to pay her back for that second chance – and he'd be damned if he was going to let that get by him.

It was then that he noticed a thin shaft of spirit energy slowly descending towards him – one of Jerry's spears. He blinked in confusion for a moment, before realizing the idea. Quickly, he let go of the branch and grabbed onto the energy. He instinctively flinched as the spear was pulled down by his weight, but he could have been in a worse position. Such as hanging on to that branch, which was currently tumbling down the cliff face. Where it had been growing was a giant hole, presumably where the plant's hardy roots had ground up the rock into soil. In the dim light of the setting sun, low over the western horizon, something glittered. It was half-hidden in the sandy loam, but a piece of it was nearly exposed by the loss of the plant. Reaching in, he grabbed it, finding in his large hands a small box made out of pearly white ivory. Engraved on the top in a blue substance – cobalt or lapis, if he had been correctly paying attention in his Geology class – was the symbol of a feather.

Now was not the time to be examining the treasure. Maybe later, such as when he was on solid ground again, would he do that. Also, they had the Mancer up there and the computer was bound to have more information that they did. Pulling slightly on the spear of energy, he was slowly raised up. The pace was excruciatingly slow, progress was made inch by inch.

It took about an hour, but they finally pulled him up. All of them sat down on the ground heaving, though Lirenas soon recovered more quickly than the rest of them had, which did not sit well with the still panting Jerry. Which resulted in a rather pointless argument between the two. Dudley rolled his eyes at this while Alyce merely laughed at the entire situation. Cami, her dark sunglasses tinted a reddish color, turned to Dudley or as they called him 'the only sane boy on the entire team'. "Hey, Dudley. What's that you brought up?"

Dudley blinked before setting out the small chest. Against the dark grass, the ivory seemed even paler, like the moon. "It was inside the cliff, actually. I noticed it, so I took it. It's odd, isn't it?"

"It's…powerful."

"Powerful?" Alyce interrupted. "What do you mean? I'm not sensing anything."

"I know, my spirit awareness isn't picking it up either. But it's a just a feeling…a feeling of something larger than we are…"

"Then let's open it," Dudley said firmly, reaching over and undoing the gold clasp that held it shut before anyone could object. Flipping open the lid, a flash of silvery light and a wave of energy dazzled them for a moment, causing them to avert their eyes. When the light ceased, they were able to look.

Resting on plush black velvet lay an hourglass. It was not made from the usual glass and wood that Dudley had seen before, but from clear crystal and a strange kind of black metal. Inside the crystal, the sand sparkled different colors, shifting from reds to greens, golds to blues, and other hues in a strange kind of cycle. From the top, a thin silver chain was attached to it. It was then that they noticed a card hidden beneath the strange object. Dudley read it out loud, but when he had finished, he admitted that he had no idea** what **it could mean.

_How many years, centuries, millenniums, eons has it been?  
Since I have fallen, fallen from the skies?  
My wings were clipped, black feathers scattered and torn  
My bloodstained soul trapped within the confines of mortality  
Those who seek me, look for me well, my prison is cunningly hidden  
But I will come and come with a vengeance  
You have found my relic, one of the Relics of Judgment  
And I, Cronus, will forever yield loyalty to the Sovereign  
The Time Harbinger eternally aligned with the Universe  
I will fly the skies and space winds again._

* * *

It had been about five hours since he had been put in this room, the grandfather clock reading 11 o'clock in the evening. It's swinging pendulum was a peaceful sound, never ceasing in the quiet of this prison. Though at the moment, it was just in the background. The sound of the violin drowned it out, emotion poured out in song and strings, lending a cathartic moment to a mind in utter turmoil.

Night was sitting on the bed once more playing the violin once more, after spending about two hours thoroughly searching every nook and cranny for a way out or at least a weak point. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain. There were no crumbling stones in the thick walls, no secret passages behind the bookcases, no forgotten key lying under the bed or in the drawers of the desk. Under the carpet was bare seamless stone, making a tunnel completely impossible. The only other door that he found open was one that lead to an extravagant bathroom. And he was certain that there was no way to get around the tiles. To put it bluntly, he had absolutely no way out of here that he could think of.

Yet. So he could not get around the architecture of the castle. That didn't mean it was hopeless. If there's a will, there's a way. He would have to be much more devious to get out of here…what if there were an accident? Of course, it wouldn't technically be an **accident**, but that wasn't the point. What if he were hurt again or if there was a fire? Then they would have to take him out of the room. They certainly wouldn't leave him there if that was the case: from what he had seen of these wizards they were far too concerned with honor as well as they seemed to care for this 'Harry' person that he supposedly was. Why not use that to his advantage? Cruel? Undoubtedly so, but it would accomplish his goal to get out of here.

And the world was a cruel place, indeed.

Why shouldn't he manipulate them? They had done enough to him. They took him from his home and were attempting to control him. They were trying to force him into being someone that he currently wasn't. They even locked him up. Wasn't that cruelty towards him? Therefore, he was completely and utterly justified. Now all he needed was to think of how to implement the scenario. Tom's wand would come in handy, but there was the possibility that he was being watched. Perhaps use the castle itself? It tried to kill him already, why not just try to use a little elemental magic and let the rest unfold? Yes, that could definitely work. But he'd have to wait a few days – gain their trust in that he wasn't going anywhere, lure them into a sense of false security. Strategy was key. The cons of this was that he'd be away from home even longer, no doubt causing his mother no grief.

The tune hitched in pitch before dropping down to a lower octave, his brief lapse in concentration distracting him. She would understand. Of course she would. And it was better that he was late than never. He just needed to survive. And that would be the real test of this situation, right?

The song changed through a smooth transition, the refrain that connected them was slow and harmonious. When he finished short segment, he began a different melody. It was not as soothing and airy as _Night's Aria_, but more slow and measured, more like a lullaby. Sometimes, when he had a hard time getting to sleep (his grandmother diagnosed this as 'youthful insomnia, you lose it after forty'), Night only had to play this song to get him feeling calmer. _Moon's Blessing_ did that. Unbidden, the image of the gods that had gathered when he was announced as the Black Dragon after the tournament came to his mind. The white-haired, brown-eyed woman with the white kimono reminding him a lot of the moon, so much so that he could take a wild guess that she was its goddess.

Harry Potter. Who was this kid? Why was he so important? Sure, a missing child was a missing child. In Grey Tower, it was taken with extreme seriousness. But that didn't explain the utter desperation that these people seemed to have. It was as if this Potter person was needed for something else, that he wasn't just an ordinary teenage wizard who went to school here, but someone much larger and more important. Why else would they go through so many lengths to find whoever he was? No, Harry Potter must not have been a normal boy. And if he were to trust his feelings about all this, the purpose that this Harry Potter was supposed to serve was sinister and dangerous. Because these people didn't seem to think that this boy ran away, but something else happened.

No matter. The concerns of the wizarding world were not among his top priorities. Escape, however, was.

The sound of the locks clicking drew his attention, his green eyes opening to look at the door, though he continued to play as if he had not been interrupted. He couldn't take the risk now, he'd be stopped before he made five steps out the door. Patience…whoever said it was a virtue must have been taking something strong. Marijuana? Cocaine? Opium? Psychedelic drugs usually did do quite a number on the mind when used, no matter who the person was. Though no straight-thinking elemental would take drugs – often times the effects were amplified and damaged the body more, as well as there would be a loss of control when it came to elemental magic. And that would be dangerous.

The door opened, though not entirely, just enough for the person to enter and to allow a brief glimpse of the hallway. That Black person slid inside, closing the door behind him. The locks clicked again. But there had been no one outside, which meant that the locks were magical. He'd have to keep that in mind.

He did notice that Black looked more serious than last time, when the man's sadness was practically palpable. But he was definitely more confident now, even a bit angry. Black had changed his robes, this time into ones that were a very deep blue, and looked to have cleaned himself up a bit. That probably having to do with the scuffle against Hedwig and the events in that horrid infirmary. Night gave him a cold stare before returning his attention back to his instrument, ignoring the newcomer.

"Harry." It seemed that the blatant dismissal got to him. The voice was frustrated, tense

Night, without missing a beat (both figuratively and literally), dryly responded. "That's not my name."

With a few short strides and quick movements, the violin and bow were suddenly out of his hands, thrown aside. Black now held him tightly by his right shoulder with one hand, the other lifting up his chin so that he was forced to look at the man. Apparently, he was now at the end of his rope. Night settled for an insolent glare, meeting his eyes, not letting himself be intimidated. Though truth be told, some small voice in his head, a voice that had made few appearances since he was made part of the Grey Tower community, was urging him to run, fight, do **_something_**. Something before he got hurt. The more rational part of his mind argued against this: they would not hurt him, not if they wanted to get anything out of him.

"Don't play games with me, Harry!" Black burst out vehemently. "That **is** your name. Why didn't you tell us you had amnesia?!"

Night shook out of the grip. "What reasons have you given me to tell you anything?! So I have amnesia. Big bloody deal."

Black looked at a loss for a moment before spitting out, "Don't you get it? We can help you get your memory back! You belong with us, Harry! We're your family! I'm your godfather, Sirius! We've been looking for you for months! Do you know how worried we have all been? How badly your friends have taken the news that you were missing?"

"My family," Night yelled back furiously, "is in Grey Tower, where I should rightfully be!" He then gave the most vicious glower he could possibly muster. "You say that you're my family? You say you were worried about me? Then why was I found abandoned in a park?! Why was I beaten and bruised to near-death?! Why was I lying in a coma for three days in a hospital?!" With each and every sentence, Black – no, Sirius – flinched. "I was told by someone that I had a cruel life, that it was best not to remember. And every time I thought about that, I realized that there had to be some truth in what I was told. And besides, I have everything I could every want now! I have a home now, a loving family, great friends, a wonderful life! Do you think I'm going to give that up just to play some martyr for the people that nearly killed me?! What on Earth to you take me for?!"

It was clear that each and every word that he had said hit its mark. Sirius looked as if a knife had stabbed him the heart and that his tormentor was slowly and painfully twisting it. He felt an immediate pang of guilt and all attempts to bury it under his anger were unsuccessful. Night averted his eyes to his hands, noticing just now they were balled into angry fists. The bandages of his right arm looked even redder.

"My name is Nuitari Hawking," he affirmed. "I'm no one else. Not Harry, not anyone else."

"You are not Nuitari," Sirius countered. "You're my godson, Harry. You're going to remember your past, I swear it."

* * *

The first thing that he noticed was that he could not tell whether it was night or day, dawn or dusk. The sky was a uniform deep red, the rolling clouds above that were blocking the sun or moon almost fluid to his eyes. There was a harsh crackle of energy across the scarlet expanse above, an energy that was not lightning or anything else he had seen. If the clouds were dark gray or black, he would think it as a sign of incoming rain.

But the clouds were not gray or black and that was not lightning. This was not normal at all. A chill wind, rough and forceful, blew from the north, freezing him to the bone. It moaned loudly into the strange atmosphere, a cruel groan that carried a sorrow that was too deep for words, a pain that carried beyond mortal comprehension and nearly made him drop to his knees in grief. For what, he did not know. But it was no wind that he was acquainted with, no common wind of nature, it was something more terrible and otherworldly than he had ever experienced before.

Getting up to his feet, Night brought his arms around himself, rubbing the fabric against his skin, hoping that the friction would somehow restore the warmth to his body and remove the distressed feeling that the wind brought upon its journey. Gathering up his nerve, he began to walk forward across the barren, bare earth that made up this place. It was more dust than soil, littered with pebbles and sand, not a single blade or leaf of green in sight. Nothing could grow here in this bleak, inhospitable land. The air itself seemed devoid of water. Ahead of him by quite a distance were indistinct tall shapes. A city, maybe? He did not know of anything else that could reach such a height. If it was a city, that would be his destination.

It seemed like mere moments, but he suddenly found himself at the edge of where he decided to go. He was incorrect about the city. It was not a city at all, but trees of incredible mass and height. The trunk of the nearest one could probably be as wide as three large SUVs lined up in a row and still have enough girth to add in a Volkswagen Beetle. All the other trees in this forest were like this, though some were wider and others smaller. The thing he noticed immediately was that there were no leaves on any of them and no foliage littered the ground. They were completely bare, their gray appearances likening more to cold stone than living organism. He put an experimental hand on the trunk, expecting to feel the spark of life within, like all other living things. But there was nothing. It felt…dead.

That dread wind blew once more and he brought his hands to his ears, straining not to hear that horrible message yet again, to not feel that grief once more. The branches of the lifeless trees strained in the moaning gale and Night was surrounded by the creaking and groaning of the dead, a chorus of frightful memories and horrors. The energy bolt flashed through the red clouds above him again – they were darker than they had been before…was it nighttime? It was plausible, he thought, since everything was becoming darker…

A drop from above landed right on his nose. Not thinking and obeying only the need for water, he stuck out his tongue to taste what he thought was rain. His tongue drew back immediately at the warm salty taste. Water, especially not rain, was never salty. Holding out a hand, a bright red drop landed right in the center of his palm, followed by another, and even more. It soon came down in a downpour, drenching him. Green eyes were wide in shock.

It was not raining water. It was raining _blood_.

Snapping himself out of the unspeakable terror that was grasping hold of his heart, he took off running, to where he did not now. All he wanted to do was get away from this evil place, to take cover from the awfulness, to get away from it all! It was as if the heavens themselves were crying tears of blood, it stained his clothes, got into his eyes, ran down his skin in crimson trails. The wind was blowing again, this time not stopping, and he did not stop either, caught in the fear and heartache, crying real tears of anguish.

The trees began to start thinning; he was dodging less and less in his unconscious flight. Ahead of him, a large mound stuck out from the rest of the flat landscape, a large opening seemingly leading downward. Ignoring the pain and torture, as well as his screaming wild instincts, he fled towards the opening. Out of the deluge of blood, he walked further in, his feet not obeying his resisting mind. His hand found the stairwell, which was promptly lit up by dim torches. Hesitantly, he descended down into the cave, the growing feeling of **_wrong_** growing within the pit of stomach. It leveled off to a platform, overlooking what appeared to be a large room cloaked in darkness and shadow. As soon as he stepped on it, the platform jerked violently, before making its way to the floor below.

He did not like the look of this at all.

A pathway lit up ahead of him, like the torches before, the light was dim and weak. Nevertheless, he walked forward, to the other end of the room, before he bumped into a low wall seemingly made of stone. That was when the entire chamber lit up. And he wished that it had stayed in darkness.

Though the pathway he had walked through was clear, the sides of the room were filled. There were people and animals there, but they hardly looked like it. All of them appeared more like corpses, with their emaciated appearances, the bones sticking out of their flesh, their hollowed eyes and emotionless faces. They were lying on the ground or sitting down, black and red sores and bruises that pulsated a malicious energy covering their bodies, their eyes either blank or small with hatred. Most were wearing rags that had only the faintest semblance of clothing, coated with filth and dried blood. As he watched, a man was kicking at a small child that was trying to defend the body of its unconscious mother, the man laughing as he did so. No one made a move to stop him, or even looked their way. There were other examples of this, more inhumane and terrible sights that he could not describe taking place right before his eyes. His throat went dry. Skeletons were piled high in the corners; the bones shining white as if they were licked clean. They probably were, judging by the way a starved terrier was ravaging what looked to be a femur. Human skulls mocked him with their empty eyes and grinning teeth. He tried to back up, to back away, but that wall once more stopped him. He turned around, but froze when he saw what was behind him.

It was a dried well, black water lapping at the edges of the stone. It glimmered darkly in the light, flickering, reminding him of the Ocean of Eternity in Lethe. There was a person standing in the midst of the shadow water, a person that was achingly familiar yet completely foreign.

He had black hair like his own, intolerably messy, though it was not streaked with the gold and silver of stardust, just plain black. He was slightly taller than he was, with a thin frame but also strong-looking. Everything that he wore was black: his boots, his pants, as well as the strange looking coat-garment that looked nothing like he had ever seen before in his life. The only things that were not black was the gray cloak that he wore and the silver armored guards he wore on his lower arms and legs, as well as the gauntlets. Huge black wings, the color of midnight, extended from his back, each feather looking wickedly sharp and unforgiving.

That was not the shocking thing of all.

Night was looking into a staggeringly familiar face: his own. Green eyes met green. The exact nose, the same mouth, everything identical. But the other's face had an older appearance, a timeless kind of aura, that he had only seen a few – namely the Dark Lady, Lady Nyx, as well as Moros – possess. The other him wore a strange circlet of silver; four thin chains (two on each side) hung from it loosely, reattached somewhere else, possibly where the rest of the circlet was hidden in the dark hair. It gave him the immediate impression of rank or authority. What was odd was that right where Night had his scar; the other had a large crack of the same size and shape running down the bright metal.

"So you see what can happen?" he asked Night.

"This – this is the future?" the boy replied shakily.

"The future is rarely ever definite. Think of it more as a possibility. But, yes, this can be the future of Earth. You see its cities gone, the forests dead, the rivers and lakes dry, the earth barren, and the storms crying crimson blood in vain as the wind moans in agony. You see here the remnants of humanity and other organisms, filled with either hate or nothingness; heinous acts are committed as if they were commonplace. But here, they are ordinary. This Earth is dead, its spirit gone, nature and the gods defeated by the petty jealousies of a selfish goddess, who in the end, was killed by the very plague she herself set upon the universe."

"But…you said this is a possibility?"

"Correct."

"Then this can be stopped?"

"Yes, if the right steps are taken."

"What can I do?" he asked earnestly. "I can't let…this…all this happen!"

"The Apocalypse can never be prevented," the other said calmly. "It can be delayed, but in time this Earth will die. However, this is not the way that I – or any of us – wished for the planet or the universe that we sacrificed ourselves for to end. I could…if I were able." Night's eyes were drawn downward, to the white glowing chains that were wrapped around the other's legs, arms, torso, neck, and wings. They were thick bindings as well scorching hot, burning his fingers when he dared to touch them. "You have the right to decide what the future will be."

His surroundings began to fade away, disappearing into the dark again. Seeing the other starting to vanish as well, he reached out, but his hand went through like he was a ghost. "Wait! Who are you?!"

"Don't you know?" his cryptic answer was. "I am you. And you are me."

The words made him halt, a jolt running through his mind, watching the other's sad smile. His mouth formed the words without him knowing where they came from. "If I am you, and you are me, for what purpose are we meant to be?"

The scene had vanished, leaving only the two, one slowly becoming nebulous and hazy. The winged one shook his head in sorrow. "Death, revolution and rebirth. We hear the eternal melody that the soul sings. We bring the divine judgment from beyond, Unforgiven, though we may be. To fly high above upon the death-shadowed wings." The moment, the thread of connection that Night felt just at his fingertips, shattered. The wind was blowing again…not only sadness, but pain…

"It is not time yet. Scream. Cry. Wail, for the world – like everything else – is all wrong."

Thus, this was how Night awoke in his comfortable prison screaming, tears streaming down his face. He looked down at his hands, his green eyes wide, not registering that everything was slightly blurry because he was without his glasses, expecting to see that horrid blood which had rained down staining them. The headache returned full-force, with it, the memory of that wind and the cold pain that racked his body. He didn't notice that the door had opened, that Sirius Black had entered the room and was holding him close, asking what was the matter. Asking 'Harry' what was wrong. But he was not registering that fact, too preoccupied. All that his mind's eye could see was that vicious future, looming ahead. He buried his face within the dark folds of the older man's robes, trying to will the dire images out of his head.

It was a futile attempt.

* * *

Happy Anniversary to Elemental Genesis! On July 13, 2003, I posted the first chapter of Elemental Genesis on Amazing how much time flies, doesn't it? Thanks for staying with me for so long!

For those that don't remember who Alexandra Quinn, Brian Reginald, Veda Kakar, and Forrest Constantine are, they are the spies that Melania sent into Hogwarts. And if you're wondering why Hedwig (White Owl) did not block the dream, it was because Nuitari sent it, not Pheta.

And also, for those that wanted to know: the term Maleficus can apply to one of them, or a group of them. The distinction is in the context. The word is like…sheep. You can have one sheep, or a herd of sheep. You can have one Maleficus, or an army of them. Hopefully that clears up the confusion.

Dark Reflections has been updated, in which we meet Theo threatening various people, Harry invading upon the sacred Slytherin compartment, Blaise being…himself, a shocked Draco, and the introduction of various uses of the yo-yo. Due to demand, I'm now also posting what I have of my other story, Celestial Requiem here on as well as Tears of Twilight. Like DR, both are sixth-year fics, though all three of them are profoundly different. I'm also thinking of putting up the revamped Herald of Shadows, which lost to EG last year when I was trying to decide what to post for the first time. Hope you like them all.

The Elemental series is my main priority, however. If you're part of my Yahoo!Group, please vote while you can on the recent poll! Your vote will decide which of the many Genesis prequels I will post! It's too bad that I have no scanner or digital camera, so I can't get any of my own pictures up.

---Raven Dragonclaw


	4. Paradise Lost

_Disclaimer:_ Nothing belongs to me except plotlines, clans and their members, and Grey Tower along with any characters that you don't recognize.

* * *

**Elemental Prophecies**

* * *

Chapter Four: Paradise Lost

"Accuse not nature, she hath done her part;  
Do thou but thine, and be not diffident  
Of wisdom, she deserts thee not, if thou  
Dismiss not her, when most thou needest her nigh,  
By attributing overmuch to things  
Less excellent, as thou thyself perceivest."  
-_John Milton, Paradise Lost_

* * *

It expanded and contracted, sped up and slowed, broke and reformed millions of times in a matter of mere moments. It was a symphony of magic, weaved with a persevering intent and patience, the tapestry of purpose gradually coming into creation, becoming into _being_. Such was the power given to those who dwell on earthly planes, a bequest that hid the possibility of a deadly curse, the tool of the apex of the mind and the ultimate implement for the descent into madness. They accuse the goddess Pandora, the light of hope borne of the deepest darkness and the mysterious night, of bringing about the plagues of the world, releasing them from a box given to her by those who were created from the Almighty. While it was her responsibility to guard the seal, can one condemn the foolish curiosity ingrained within the psyche of all living things?

History is never exactly told as it happened. How can it be, when there are people involved? Mortals, particularly humans, are fickle things, which never cease to change during the passage. That rule, known as Althelion's Razor: No matter what, everything changes, and that rule will never change. For in every tale that is told, one must put a bit of themselves into the story, or else what else is it? It would merely be a flat imitation of a one-sided conversation and a conversation was meant for much more than just one. No there is much more than that. Opinions and judgments, subtle changes that the teller prefers over the actual truth, a piece of their sense of self – these are a few of the things that are inserted into the tangled web of history, which is no more than a long story that mortals themselves act out in their everyday lives that, like all stories, will eventually come to an end.

So did Pandora open the box? As much as it seems that she would, she did not. It was true that she was a flighty goddess that was easily tricked, something that her older brother Moros (the embodiment of cunning) never fails to demonstrate, but even those who lack gravity of mind can realize a great importance when they see it. In a time when men prevailed in society, the mistake of a woman causing the plights of man seemed logical and fitting. There was no mention of her thickheaded husband who was not meant to be her spouse calling her outside to tend to some minor problem, allowing for a malicious thief to infiltrate their luxurious home. It was the thief – a petty one who only desired only the shine of silver and gold – who opened that chest for the wealth he thought he would find, instead releasing the afflictions upon humanity. As such, Pandora was named the scapegoat. Never a mention of the thief, not a word about the husband calling her outside, and Prometheus – the Titan who brought the flame to man, who Pandora left the recesses of the dark realms for – was still chained to the mountains for his charity, his liver eaten by an eagle everyday, as the organ grew back every night. It was all that Pandora could do to try to amend things, releasing her magic, bringing hope to humanity and encouraging them to survive and live on.

History was like this. Truth was overrated.

* * *

Ron Weasley stood outside in the eastern courtyard, carefully standing out of view behind a group of thickly needled pine trees, the ground beneath his feet becoming hard with cold. His breath froze as it met the air as he blew on his hands to warm them and with his ruddy face could have given the impression that he was smoking or he just ate some particularly hot Pepper Imps. Other than his robes and uniform, he had nothing else, which he was beginning to regret. It was a cold day for October and he was freezing. And he wished to high heaven that he had listened to Hermione when he said he was going out for a walk to take his cloak.

Unfortunately, he would have to live with it. He was already out here and it would be past curfew if he went to Gryffindor Tower and back. And he didn't have the status to be out after the designated time. Sure, he had in the beginning of the year. McGonagall had come to him with the Prefect badge, asking him to shoulder the responsibility. Hermione had already gotten hers during the summer, so he knew that he wasn't meant to have the title. Harry was, but because he was not there – still missing and hopefully, still alive – he was the next choice. In the past, he would have been insulted at this, indignant that he was still the second one looked at. But this was different. He couldn't take it. He didn't deserve it and it wasn't meant for him. Therefore, it was turned down, despite the fact that Seamus did his job horribly. Instead, he did the only thing he could do: manage the Quidditch team. He felt that it was the least he could do. But it was hard, with almost the entire team leaving the next year. But he was trying.

He reached into his pocket, taking out a small pouch attached to his slacks by a strong chain. Pulling the clasps and string, he pulled out the crystal-like orb that contained the item he was now sworn to protect: the Feather of Death-Shadowed Wings. Professor Majere had mentioned nothing of it afterward, ignoring him in favor of the grueling work that had become part of the bane of his existence. Though, now that he thought about it, the strange professor was acting…strangely as of late, slightly distracted and…aggravated. Something must have happened that he did not know about.

Maybe it was the strange music. Hermione obviously hadn't heard it, or else she would have commented. He knew he wasn't the only one who had heard it; Professor Lupin had admitted that Sirius started raving about hearing a violin song when he himself hadn't heard a thing. Had Majere heard it, too? And **_what_** was it exactly? It was a weird melody that sent pleasant chills down his spine; a tune that he felt was older than himself or even the castle. There was a magic in it, but he couldn't quite place it or why it was slightly familiar. It had him stumped.

He shouldn't be worrying. Majere was just plain strange, for why would he have that strange wand? Or mutter those three names when looking at a book (the language he spied on the spine looked **_nothing_** like any language he had ever seen)? Those strange names…Solinari, Lunitari, and Nuitari. What French that Hermione had brought from her third year faded from his memory, but he could assume the first had to do with the sun or white light, the second with the moon. But what was the third?

But then again, when wasn't he about the mysteries that seemed to become part of his life? Though it all seemed to lead to one thing: Harry Potter. He just couldn't for the life of him figure out how the threads connected. And he couldn't ask Hermione. She was under enough stress as it was.

Whatever was going on, the Feather was reacting to _something_. It was emitting some kind of strange energy. It wasn't a bad one, at least that what he guessed. On the contrary, he surmised that it was more of a protective kind of magic. But why was it acting up this way. In the little more than a month since he had been given the item, it had never done this. And it practically burned a hole in his slacks when that song was played, though it quickly fell back to just a warm temperature. He was still concerned though.

Which was why, to his better judgment (and against his self-esteem), he was going to contact the only person he could actually discuss the item with. And, personally, he did not want to be near that said person/spirit/whatever.

"I thought we talked about this already," the terse and tough voice of Boudicca sounded in his head, the sourness evident in every single word the ancient Iceni queen uttered. "We weren't going to talk during the day since you haven't quite mastered answering back without talking aloud!"

It took a lot of self-control just not to insult her back. And he was making an attempt! But it's sort of hard to learn how to do that when you're distracted with a plethora of other things to attend to!

"I know," he muttered. "But I need to ask you something!"

"It had better be important!"

He rolled his eyes. Why couldn't he have been aligned with one of the others? They seemed much nicer…and more easy-going. "It is. The Feather is reacting to something. I don't know _what_ though." Silence. Pure, complete silence answered him back. For a moment, he was pleased that he managed to shock Boudicca into shutting up. But then it occurred to him that it might not be a good thing if he wasn't answered quickly. "Hello?"

"Be on your guard and keep your sword with you all the time," was the tight reply. "Don't go _anywhere_ without having it by your side, like those troublesome wands you wizards carry."

"Why? Do you know what's causing it?"

"It maybe a good thing, maybe a bad. Whatever you do, keep that item by you and give it to _no one_. There are certain…individuals…that can cause a reaction. But there are good ones and bad ones now, according to what I know of the lore. It's better to not hand it over at all than potentially give it to the enemy." A pause. "You know what this means, right boy?"

"No," he asked, perplexed. "What?"

"WORK ON YOUR SWORDSMANSHIP!" she yelled back, her voice ringing in his head (and ears). The response was so loud – and unexpected – that he yelled out in surprise and covered his ears. "AND USE WHAT I TAUGHT YOU FOR ONCE, NOT SWING IT AROUND LIKE IT'S SOME OVERSIZED CLUB! HUMAN BEINGS HAVE MOVED PAST THE STONE AGE LONG AGO, SO STOP ACTING LIKE A NEANDERTHAL!"

"I'm trying! And what's a neander-whatsits?!"

* * *

The corridor was empty of all individuals save for the four currently walking down it. The hallway was strange, outlandish, particularly to those who were born and raised on Earth. But to those who possessed memories of long ago, the décor was strikingly nostalgic. The walls of the passage were made out of a white metal, unknown to the Earth, smooth and stronger than steel. Thick glass, green colored and covered in golden symbols, made up the floor. The overhead lights were soft, not glaring and bright, just the right amount of shadowy dimness. Outside the window to the side hung the Earth, its northern polar ice cap stark against the blue of the ocean and the darkness of space. An aurora, blazing blue-green, seemed to cling to the sky like a hair ribbon flying in the breeze.

Each footstep making a rhythmical ringing, echoing on the glass, four individuals walked down this hallway. One strode confidently in front, while the other three stayed a step behind out of respect of rank. The one in front was Mathias Clarimorir, famous for founding and running the Trinity Organization. But to those that could see beyond that mortal façade, they would know that they were dealing with something far more dangerous than a mere young man. No, behind that smile and those cool hazel eyes was a soul older than most of the current citizens of the universe, a soul that was powerful and ancient.

The Trinity Organization was just a front. Most of those that worked for the company knew that, from the lowest assembly line worker to the upper echelons of the hierarchy. And they accepted it. Why not? A person working at Trinity was respected and paid well no matter how menial their responsibility. It was a dream for the common man: a chance to work with both the lowest of the low and the most intelligent of the intellectuals. Money was no object; you were insured adequate housing and education for your children, excellent options and insurance, as well as other perks. If you were in need of anymore training or if you were suffering a problem, Trinity would take care of it. But those in charge of the branches of Trinity had strange ways of choosing their employees. Why else would a wealthy valedictorian from Yale be passed up for an important position within the company for a bum off the street that just asked the branch president for a quarter?

It was simple, really. Those branch presidents weren't ordinary people. They were either awakened Harbingers or highly skilled magic users, usually those gifted with Chaos power. And these were people that could see that the valedictorian would not love what they were doing, while that bum – after some initial training – would come to enjoy going to work each day. Skill, though valued, was not what mattered. It was a deeper quality that bound together those of Trinity – a love of knowledge, a respect for life, and a will for balance in the world.

The Trinity Organization was just a façade for the revival of Nemesis, the ancient order that made up primarily of Harbingers and founded by the Dark Sovereign to ensure the balance of the universe and its peoples. And as it was countless ages ago, its former commander was once more in power. And though documentation claimed the head branch of Trinity offices was in New York City, it was not true – though Mathias Clarimorir claimed it was. Empire City, floating high above the Earth's sphere, was the true center of activity. And it was the ambition of every Trinity worker to have the opportunity to work there, or at least catch a glimpse of space fortress.

But if you were Mathias Clarimorir, Darius reborn, it was not only your base of operations, but also home.

Behind him were three of his former closest advisors. There had been quite a number of them before the Verdict, which sealed them, but now he was left with the few loyal. The previous chain of command had to be changed and adapted to suit the new conditions. His second-in-commands had deserted him. Adirenne flew off as the strangling remainders of the Harbingers were making their way to receive their verdict. He could remember her proud face contorted with wrathful pride, screaming that they had the right to rebel, and flying into the deepest parts of space with those that concurred following closely behind. Nephilus showed his true colors during the actual Verdict, in which he took off, scared of the Almighty's rage. He also lost three out of the Great Seven Generals, those Harbingers that lead the Seven Fleets to maintain balance throughout the cosmos. They too fled from their punishment.

In the new Nemesis, if all went well, there would be only four – new and better – fleets. These were still under construction and in the initial planning. And there was also the fact that new ideas and technology – as well as considerable time for thinking on the project – allowed for this progression from the old to the new. It was being accomplished quickly considering that only three of the four generals were present.

One was Miranda Blackthorne, the auburn-haired girl with the tendency to smile and laugh. Which was funny, considering the first time they had met was when he had broken up with one of her best friends and she confronted him about it. She was screaming at him senseless, while he was rubbing the cheek that she had slapped gingerly, his mind reeling at the fact that _she_ was in front of him, _she_ had the nerve to slap him, and he was completely justified in dumping Veronica if she liked the popcorn-guy at the movie theatre more than she liked him. It took a full three days for her to awaken, in which she apologized profusely…though she treated him to seeing that old movie **Animal House** despite his protests. Either way, he turned down the offer of popcorn. Such was the reincarnated Megami, the Midnight Harbinger, she who was called the 'Sage of Evening'. He sort of viewed her like the little sister he wished he had (not the snooty one he had in reality). She was the General of the Medea Fleet.

Beside her, light blue eyes intense and his face as unemotional as ever, was Hiroshi Takashi. They had met under…unusual circumstances. In fact, the young man had hijacked his limousine when he had been on his way to tour the Tokyo branch of Trinity. Apparently, he wanted 10.5 million dollars from Trinity in exchange for the life of Mathias Clarimorir. That's when everything went crazy – other people wanting their hands on one of the richest men in the world. The situation was reversed, Hiroshi ended up _protecting _him (not that it was really necessary). He played along and ended up being dropped off at a Hong Kong airport, unharmed and the only money losses amounting to about fifty dollars. A week later, Miranda showed up with 'Hiro' at her heels. He was the reincarnated Hiroshi (the fact that he ended up with the same name amused Miranda to no end), the Star Harbinger, also called the Veil's Slayer because he could easily pass through the imperfect portals to other realms that were scattered about. The Assassin Fleet was under his command.

As for the last…Darius smirked a bit at the memory. On the other side of Miranda was a tall imposing dark-skinned girl with black hair pulled back in many braids. Keisha Jennings was Los Angeles born and bred, though infamous around her neighborhood for being temperamental and violent. Thus, when he was having lunch in Beverly Hills, the maitre'd of the restaurant ended up with a black eye, a badly bruised stomach, and flying into a large and extravagant wedding cake meant for the group in the adjoining reception hall. Of course, when she confronted him saying that she was back and ready to 'kick some ass again', he was understandably confused. When she claimed that she was one of the Generals, he had considerable doubt. He said as such and nearly got knifed in the process, curses flung at him like missiles. It took a bit of time to accept (really, it did), but it was true. Falcifer, the Twilight Harbinger, the 'Dusk Blade' because of _his_ abilities with knives, had been reincarnated as a girl. Thus, she was the General of the Crystales Fleet.

The other general, the one that was missing, went by the name of Nuitari. But that Harbinger had his own responsibilities to deal with, according to the Universe, and they were not to interfere in them…at least, not yet anyway. However, when he rejoined their ranks, his fleet would be ready and waiting.

The group reached the end of the hall, where a decorated door slid open, the two halves sliding into the wall with a small rush of air. Self-assured, he walked into the room, the three behind him following him.

Workers rushed to and fro around various terminals and stations. There were a number of humans here from Earth; they lived in the residential part of the station. It wasn't called Empire City for nothing. But there were others among them – from different planets and alien races. It was essential to establish ties between the planets and systems again, like they had before in the old Golden Age. For the moment, the concentration was in uniting the Milky Way-Andromeda galaxies first, before venturing outward once more. The shared technology and knowledge was astounding. According to a report from the Empire Medical team – composed of the best doctors and healers in both galaxies – projects to cure such dangerous diseases were progressing at a rapid pace as well as new kinds of treatment and theories.

And the computer programmers were having a ball. Especially the ones that were obsessed with aliens to begin with.

This was the nerve center of Empire City, the main control room. It was here that all areas of the Universe were being watched for any news or activity. Space rebellions, trade routes, space piracy, Maleficus activity, meteor clouds, anything and everything was reported here. Bypassing a few workers (the employees exchanged a few greetings, before going back to work), he led the others up to the top most seat. This was his station, where he would oversee all command and aspects of the new Nemesis.

"You called us here for what?" Megami asked. "All you've been telling me is to come – which I resent, by the way – and that you need to show us something." He repressed a laugh. He knew she hated when she wasn't let in on something.

Already anticipating Falcifer's impatience (when wasn't he…she. When wasn't _she_ impatient? He had to get used to that), he was happy that he ordered that she bring no weaponry. "Yeah, what did you call us for? We've got a lead on some Maleficus in the Amazon region."

Hiroshi nodded silently. "Probably looking for a Judgment relic." He scowled. "It better not be mine. Those are the only things that can return us to our true forms."

"It's not about that," Darius interrupted. The search for the Relics of Judgment was already one of his top priorities. He wasn't ashamed to admit that his primary reason for finding them was to regain his wings and to fly again. If he were a betting man, he'd put all his money that all those awakened Harbingers that he had agreed with him. But for the moment, finding those that were unawakened and bringing them here to safety was essential. Preferably while they were still in a form. When the soul was separated, it was much harder to awake the Harbinger aspect as the mortal one complicated things. Maleficus were hunting them down and that wasn't something to be taken lightly.

It was unfortunate that they stuck out like crows among tropical birds. If one had the ability, they could immediately see a Harbinger. They would have black and gold mixed in with their regular aura. And if their soul were separated, unlike those of normal mortals, it would take the form of a golden star-like crystal. And Darius needed as many of his old friends back as possible, with or without the Relics of Judgment.

"We have a new weapon," he explained, noting the slight smirk beginning to grace Hiroshi's face. "Yes, you may recognize it. Do you remember the old Project Silver Feather?" They nodded to show that they did, thankfully staying silent for him to continue. "The plan was to have a sort of powerful weapon that could attack from both long-range and short-range distances with incredible accuracy as a solution if the problem was too far away for any one of the Fleets to deal with. We planned this weapon for Castle in the Sky." He sighed sadly, remembering the work on that base. They couldn't use it anymore now. "But now…"

"You've managed to create the weapon we planned," Megami interrupted breathlessly.

He pushed a button on the console, a translucent window popping up in front of them. It blinked for a moment before focusing. The label on the bottom read, _Camera #001._

It showed a large room that was located at the topmost part of the sprawling Empire City. Workers were bustling to and fro, making adjustments, English and other languages mixing into one large mass of dialects. The main focus of the camera was giant, a silver contraption that dwarfed most skyscrapers. It was sleek and smooth, designed like that of a crossbow, two arms extending outward for better balance and aim. Where the arrow's shaft would be placed in a normal crossbow, there was a large clear tube that seemed to have different energies running through it, cackling and cracking as they reacted with each other.

"Generals," he proclaimed, "I give you the Meteor Storm Cannon."

Falcifer whistled in admiration while Megami gave him a large hug, spewing various accolades as she did so. Hiroshi took one look and smiled, which was an amazing thing for the usually stoic Harbinger. "Excellent," he claimed. "It's about time we got a large gun capable of mass amounts of destruction and chaos." There was a short pause before he asked, "Can I have one?"

* * *

It had taken an entire night and a half to convince the other leaders that she needed to go get her son back from the wizards that had kidnapped him. Under normal circumstances, there would be no question about it and certainly they wouldn't doubt her capacity as a leader. But this case was different. There was the fact that it was her son to begin with that was kidnapped, so her emotional attachment had to be considered. And then there was the primary reason as to why the other leaders had wavered. Night was found to originally be a wizard when he was treated at Grey Tower Sanctuary Hospital. For all they knew, Night could have other family and friends that were desperately searching for him. However, Night had been legally adopted by Zylle and was a member of a clan now, its future leader.

It had become a large debate of protecting those elementals that belonged to the clan against the right of the wizards to protect those wizards that had belonged to their society. Unprecedented in the history of Grey Tower, she had to make a firm case against letting the wizards take him back. It didn't matter if the wizards decided that they were in the right or taking in the light of the already tense relations between the two groups. Not to her.

In the end, she had Dr. Anastasius Diamante of the Kiri-Kaminari to thank for her victory. Annie had treated Night when she brought him in to the hospital, taking primary responsibility for his recovery. He argued that the boy had suffered severe physical abuse, gave examples of the various injuries and mistreatment, as well as the fact that Night had been comatose for three full days. There was even the possibility that Night didn't remember because he didn't **want** to, as a result of his trauma. Under her care, Annie claimed, Night had progressed rapidly, becoming emotionally and mentally healthy as well as recovering from his physical maladies. Should they send a child back to the nightmare they had rescued him from?

Thus, the leaders came to an agreement. A special task force of about twenty or so elementals (a few from each clan), led by Zylle herself, would go to rescue Night. That number would be enough so that if they had to fight, there was plenty of power, but it wasn't an army. The place most likely that Night had been taken was the wizarding school to the north. At this announcement, arrangements were made faster than ever. Every elemental knew of the reputation of that place. And if those that were just relatives of elementals, that carried the legacy but could not use it, underwent such torture; imagine what a full-fledged elemental would be going through? Nothing more than madness that was what!

Thus they were going to this…Hogwarts. Considering there was such a large group and they needed to get there quickly, they were going to travel by whirlwind. They would not go in one attempt, but several small jumps. About three should take them about fifteen miles outside the village of the wizards, where they would be close enough to the school without their magic going berserk. Even in the village, though they could use their powers, it would hurt them a bit. The person that was hopefully going to provide the most diplomacy here would by the Eikou-Taiyou leader, Holly McGonagall-Dorran. She had a witch sister that worked at the school, one that didn't know she was an elemental, but most likely would understand. It was this connection that Zylle was hoping for the most. A battle with the wizards was not something she wanted at the moment. It was the fate of a clan leader: politics and the clan's well-being.

And to tell the truth, Zylle was suspecting that these wizards that were keeping her son captive were allied with the said scum of the elementals. Why else would Phantom elementals be so close every time they jumped, attacking with the wizards? Was it anticipated? They had teamed up, the wizards hiding behind white masks and black cloaks. They shot their spells at them; the Phantoms just standing back like hungry vultures in sight of their prey.

But they were elementals. And elementals didn't go down easy. And when you have a force like nature behind you, then you're a person to be reckoned with. Possibly it had to do with what the Phantoms said about them. In a strange twist of irony, they claimed that Shining elementals were weak because they did not use Phantom crystals.

Yeah. Right.

Zylle moved easily through the trees that were pervaded the landscape, dodging curses to and fro, steadily getting closer to where the wizards were grouped together in a clearing. All around her, she could hear the others doing the same. Jumping into the air, she landed on a strong tree branch before making her way forward again. It was a known fact of wizards that any spell that had green light should be avoided at all costs. Sure, it could be harmless one for all they knew about such spells with wands, but it was better not to take a chance. Finally close enough, she summoned two wind swords and struck at the nearest wizard.

One of her swords sliced clean through the wand, the reaction between its magic and that of her own causing it to explode into pieces. Taking advantage of it, she sliced the wizard across the chest, causing him to fall back gasping, grabbing the front of his robes. Then, Zylle spun around and executed a forceful high kick to the neck of another wizard that tried attack her from behind. The others were joining her. She ducked as one of them shot a green spell at her, screaming frantically in a manic rage, "_AVADA KEDAVRA!" _It passed harmlessly over her head, striking a tree. That man was soon struck down but the bullet of a gun.

Though she was there for diplomatic reasons, there was no denying that Holly McGonagall-Dorran was deadly when given her favorite weapon: the gun.

Her eyes widened as she felt the energy around them pulsate. She used her wind magic to increase her speed, narrowly avoiding the geyser of lava that erupted into the air. Lifting her blades up, a shield formed around her protecting her from the spewing flame as well as from water attacks from the side. Pulling down the shield and moving as quickly as the wind itself, she took on the four Phantom elementals nearest to her. The first two were easy enough to take down with simple slashes and kicks. But the other two were a different matter.

She parried an attack from one's water axe when the other struck at her back with a short sword. Unable to do anything for the moment, she sent back a gust of wind behind her to repel the attacker. As the breezes flew back, they stung the new wound on her back. She felt a liquid feeling on the skin – blood. But nothing to worry about at the moment. It was most likely a shallow wound that just bled a lot, but wasn't that serious. And her life was much more important.

Fueling her attack with her anger, she threw off the first man's assault, dispelling the wind sword in her right hand as she did so. Then, as the burly Phantom elemental staggered back, she landed in a hard punch to the man's gut. Concentrating, she gave him the shock of his life: the equivalent of being hit with lightning. He fell to the ground quickly. Whirling around, she flung the wind sword in her left hand at the tree behind her. As it spun through the air at tremendous speed, she could hear the high-pitched wail of the wind.

It didn't hit the tree, but it hit its target.

The air shimmered for a moment, before it solidified into the second attacker. The blade had caught him deep in the chest. He wouldn't die, but he'd be in a lot of pain. With a wave of her hand, the sword imbedded in the Phantom vanished and he collapsed onto the drying grass with a light thump. Looking on with impassive eyes, she felt something jump onto her shoulder. The feral purring that soon vibrated through her body told her immediately that it was Shadow, probably waiting until the obstacles were out of the way before leading them again.

Whoever was doing this – manipulating the lives of her clan and her family – they were going to pay. Big time.

* * *

"Okay, Potter, let's try this **_again_**."

"First of all, it's Nuitari. Hawking, if you prefer to use my surname. And second, why don't you just give up already?"

"I don't care if you're the stinking Poobah of Wallapallooza. Just answer my questions!"

"I don't care that you don't care! I won't answer your questions and I doubt that if there is such a place as Wallapallooza, there would be a Poobah running things."

"Just shut up and respond!"

"I can't **shut up** and **respond** at the same time, _respected professor._"

This was the basic theme of what had been going on for about the past several hours: a conversation filled to the brim with argument, tension, and witty repartee. Night was seated at the desk in his affluent prison, leaning into the burgundy leather with his clenched fingers digging into its smooth surface in an attempt to quell his headache as well as from attacking the person interrogating him. His whole body was stiff with stress and repressed rage, green eyes narrowed in warning behind his silver rimmed glasses. In defiance of what the wizards seemed to want, he continued to wear the old green and silver scarf that Tom had given him. At the moment, it was wrapped around his neck casually. His Grey Tower uniform was packed away neatly in his backpack. He was going to make his move soon. In this place of robes, the outfit stuck out like a sore thumb. Instead, he settled for some of the clothing the wizards themselves had given him, though he had dispelled any charms that were present before donning them. For the most part, he looked decidedly muggle and ordinary: plain white trainers, dark blue jeans, black turtleneck, and an open forest green dress shirt over that. The mirror that served as his means to contact Tom hung from its silver chain, the silver dragon emblem looking out of place in the predominantly crimson and gold room.

But if there was one thing other than the fact that he was being utterly difficult that was pissing off one Professor Severus Snape, it was definitely the scarf. There was a brief exchange over this before – something about 'Potter' being the epitome of a non-Slytherin and stupidity. It probably didn't help when he added in, for the first of many times in this interrogation, that he was not Harry Potter.

Slytherin. Tom had told him about Hogwarts a bit, but not much. Though he couldn't blame the older man. If he had been put through the same experiences as Tom had in this place, he wouldn't want to talk about it either. For the most part, he knew that those who belonged to that group had to be dealt with carefully. Slytherin housed the cunning and the crafty, the place where you had to consider everything. Though there were ways to get around that…Tom himself said that he managed to gain most of Slytherin loyalty even before the demon took complete control. If you had a dream and there was something to be gained from it, there was promise. The only weakness he had heard in this 'admirable' house where morals were secondary and the means did not meet the ends was the topic of family and blood.

And here he was thoroughly incensing the Head of said house.

Was he feeling some feeling of accomplishment and pride at this fact? Of course, he was. But after awhile of being thrown question after question by this persistent greasy-haired man, he inclined to relinquish the pleasure of the situation in favor of annoyance. It had been three hours since this had begun and despite all signs of that cooperation **_was _**something that was too much to ask of the kidnapped elemental, the man still persevered. In a way, he was reminded a bit of Professor Coulter and how she inflicted a grilling worthy of the Spanish Inquisition when a lab assignment or homework paper had not been given in. But there were key differences.

One, Professor Coulter had class. A great deal of it.

Two, she liked him.

And Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts clearly did not possess any class nor did he like him one bit. So, Night felt that he had the right to be difficult. And there was no denying that when he put his mind to it, he was good at it.

Severus Snape seemed to concur with that. The poor excuse of an educator (in his opinion, as apparently that weird headmaster was not 'all there', to put it mildly) was standing against the door, glaring at him down at him as if he were a piece of filth. The feeling was more or less mutual; Night would like nothing better than to break that hooked nose of his.

"You _are_ Potter," the professor growled, infuriated. "It's a established fact now! And if proven magical identification doesn't confirm it, then your impudence and overall lack of reverence to anything important or of authority does! You were like this as a student and now you're worse as some arrogant so-called elemental!"

"I hate facts," Night began. _Let's see how 'educated' this guy is._ If there was one thing that Mr. Weatherby revered above everything in his history class, it was the memorization of quotes. According to him, while history was a genuine account of humanity and the world around them, there was nothing that truly helped understand a figure from either historical or literary sources than a quote. Of course, it was tedious as hell to actually keep all of them in line with who said them. "I always say the chief end of man is to form general propositions -- adding that no general proposition is worth a damn. _(1)_" Night settled for a smug look, noting the shocked, then calculating look that passed over his verbal opponent's face.

For a moment, there was quiet. Just when Night was beginning to think that he had finally unnerved the man, said annoyance replied. "Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored. _(2)_"

"I believe in general of the dualism between facts and the ideas of those facts in human heads, _(3)_ " Night countered. "Henceforth, there are no facts, only interpretations. _(4)_"

"Nothing in the world is more frightful than ignorance in action, _(5)_" Snape snapped back. At his sides, Night noticed the professor's hands clenching and unclenching in anger, as if they longed to just grab his wand and curse him to oblivion. But that wasn't going to happen. He needed him to answer his questions, after all.

But he did have to admit that it was a clever comeback. He imperceptibly winced. _Good one. _"Never attribute to malice that which could adequately be explained by stupidity. _(6)_" Just for kicks, he added. "Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence. _(7)_"

It hit home. Oh, did it hit home!

"The world needs anger," was his reply when the older man finally regained some semblance of composure. "The world often continues to allow evil because it isn't angry enough. _(8)_"

He was surprised. For a moment, he thought he had one. "How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it?_ (9)_" Silence. Maybe it was just harder for wizards to come up with good quotes from history, particularly muggle sources. It wasn't as if they were recorded – or as deep – as muggle ones were. "Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute, _(10)_" Night prompted, trying to elicit some kind of response.

His response? It was, "You **_will _**tell me, Potter. Sooner or later, you will." That and the door slammed as the professor exited the room in a huff. The familiar clicking of locks followed after.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If all things when to plan, then he would be far away from here by tomorrow evening.

* * *

_Zilch, zip, zero, nope, nada, nil, nix, nothing! What do these people **want **from me?!_

He resisted the urge to just tear the sheets of parchments into tiny pieces out of frustration. Groaning in his aggravation, Night threw his hands up in the air and collapsed backwards onto the pillows of the bed. As he did so, other leaves of paper fluttered into the air, disturbed by his sudden movement, to fall slowly to the ground again. The red coverlet was littered with parchment, books, clothing, and other various paraphernalia, arranged in a slightly organized circle around him. A battered old trunk stood open, revealing what few contents were left inside of it, most of which consisted of a couple of smelly old socks that he would not even touch.

All this, including the socks (unfortunately), was supposedly _his._

And he wanted no part of it. But it wasn't as if his opinion mattered much here anyway. The way they treated him was like that of a naïve and fragile child! They explained nothing to him as well as fully expected that he accept their decisions and conclusions without question!

It wasn't something he was used to…as far as back as his memories went anyway. Back home – _at Grey Tower,_ his mind replied stubbornly – he was never treated like this. He was always given a chance to make a decision and add his own input. Certainly, his mother had put her foot down a number of times, but she never failed to explain to him why she had done it nor had she stopped him from saying what he thought. For most of the time, she had only his good interests at heart. This people claimed the same thing; but how could he know that, when he was given nothing to elucidate exactly **why** it was for his benefit. All they had done was lock him away, expecting him to take it lightly.

_Mum…_Now there was a person he was missing the most. When he had a lot on his mind, like now, he would go to her to just…vent. Even if she didn't completely understand – like why exactly it was important to learn algebra or that he couldn't get some cute girl he met in the hallway to notice him (that brief period of infatuation didn't last long…like she and Gran predicted it wouldn't) – he would go to her. Around now, she would probably be in her study, typing away at her computer, while Gran tried to distract her through various means extending to book readings to brownies. She would be smiling knowingly at him, probably pushing some of her black hair out of her face when it got loose from whatever style she had put it in. How many days has it been? Five? She was most definitely on her way by now. It was just a feeling that he had, instinctual. It was a fact and there was nothing that could convince him otherwise. He was surer that she was on her way than the wizards were that he was this Harry Potter. No, he knew for sure that she was coming for him. Was she delayed in some way? What if she was hurt? No, that wasn't possible. His mother was Zylle Hawking, Black Dragon of the Arashi-Tenku Dragons. He knew that she wouldn't give him up. Not without a fight and a whole lot of hell.

Besides, he wanted out of here as fast as possible. The headache was getting worse everyday, though it seemed to lessen when he played his violin. But he didn't want a temporary remedy, but a permanent one. The remedy that he had in mind constituted of being as far away from this cursed establishment as possible.

Whoever this Harry Potter was, he was one very complacent person. So much so, that it almost made him sick. How could this kid just take this sitting down? This was manipulation! Didn't this boy, who evidently looked quite a bit like himself, stand up against these people and said what **he **wanted in life? Had he no pride or self-possession? How could he let his life be run by everyone else?! The mere thought of the presumption made him want to destroy this prison until it wasn't even recognizable as a castle, just dust in the wind! If there was one thing that an elemental was taught, it was that confidence in one's self was essential not only to survive in the cruel world but also to show respect to the elements, that you were truly deserving of channeling that power.

It was disgusting how these people were taking such blatant advantage of someone.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed 4 o'clock. Packing the things away in that trunk – which he kicked for good measure, he gathered everything that was truly his and stashed them in his backpack. Definitely wanting to blend in, he managed to snitch one of the school uniforms when he was exiting the Hospital Wing after that busybody nurse was distracted for a moment. It was easy to sneak them out, hidden with another pile of clothes that they had given him – all of them, including the uniform, stinking of wizarding magic. They had belonged to some person (named Mal-something) who had been cursed by some hothead named Weasley and some girl named Granger, apparently for insulting their friend, whoever he was. They didn't see him as he left, the Headmaster throwing some kind of silvery cloak over him and silencing him with a charm. Said cloak, which did something to make him unnoticeable to the others in the room, also helped him in the theft. The clothes – consisting of a pair of black slacks, white shirt, tie, sweatervest and black robes – were thankfully sort of close to his size, just a couple of shades larger and the slacks a bit too long (he hated being short). The badge on the robes proclaimed him Slytherin.

Ironic.

But, seeing how wizards seemed to not notice a lot of things when they should, he was hoping they wouldn't notice that at first. Hopefully, when he had the chance, he could use a good disguise charm to further the ruse. But for the moment, he'd have to be himself.

Steeling himself for the inevitable pain, he concentrated his elemental magic, this time not of wind but of fire. Already, he could feel the air around him grow warm and heated. The same twisting feeling was happening again, but he tried to will the pain away to do this. As he felt that invisible knife cut his cheek, the fire engulfed the mahogany wardrobe in the corner (as a courtesy, which he personally felt they didn't deserve but his mother would probably demand, he removed all items from it before hand). The castle seemed to think better of trying to hack him into pieces like before, instead spreading the fire more quickly for him.

_Perfect…_

"HELP! FIRE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

As expected, two men in blue robes (Aurors, he guessed correctly) came rushing into the room. Watching the fire in horror, they immediately began casting water spells to put it out. It didn't take long for the small blaze to be extinguished. Sharing a look that clearly meant that they had to see Dumbledore, they both turned to look for the room's prisoner.

Nuitari Hawking (or Harry Potter) was not there. The room was empty. Both as one rushed to the door, the only exit, pulling and trying on the door handle to no avail. It was locked. The two men were locked in the prison with no way out. And the hostage had escaped.

* * *

"I don't know what to do!"

"Calm down, Sirius."

"How can I calm down when my godson is like a complete stranger to me?! You don't see the way he looks at me, as if I were some lowlife criminal that should go rot in hell! It's like when he thought I killed his parents!"

It was becoming an regrettable habit of Sirius Black to wear a hole through the carpet of the Headmaster's office by pacing away, ranting his thoughts. As on many occasions, the cause of this pertained to that of a specific young man with messy black hair and green eyes. The younger man strode to and fro across the room with almost frightening rapidity, his face lined with stress, sorrow, and utter confusion. Sirius' eyes drifted briefly to the blackened portion of the wall, where the portrait of Godric Gryffindor's wife, Phillandra Pheta, once hung. It was still a mystery as to how it burned, erupting in black flame, to one Albus Dumbledore. But it was a mere painting – and human beings for the moment were the priority of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

It was certainly a disconcerting matter, though. They had back Harry…in the physical sense. But what exactly **had** those elementals done to him? Poppy claimed that the amnesia was largely magical in nature, though part of it was natural from the trauma Harry experienced prior to his disappearance. Though no matter how many spells they performed or potions they gave him, his memories still were trapped behind a proverbial wall. He had his theories, of course. Elemental magic and wizarding magic, when faced off against each other, seemed to repel each other. His old professors taught that magic of any kind was malleable – so surely a fusion of wizarding and elemental magic was possible? It had to be. Or else how could Harry be both? Well, it was a supposition. But that would go under the impression that Harry retained his knowledge of wizarding magic and as of yet, Harry hadn't showed even an ounce of it yet.

Then there was also the possibility that Harry was suppressing the past himself. The child had experienced a lot. It would be understandable that he would try to forget everything and be…normal, without the weight of the world on his shoulders. And it appeared that the elementals had offered that chance to him, adopting him as one of their own, most likely placing him in a family that would give him the love that he deserved. Albus noticed it with every movement the boy made, every witty crack he made at them. This Harry was much more open, more carefree, and much more confident in himself. Stronger, as well, and not just physically (as Poppy was quick to report). This Harry was a far shot away from the young man who sat shaking and pale last June, recounting the horrors that he had seen. Harry could just be grasping for what he never had by repressing the prior memories. Starting with a clean sleet.

There were so many unanswered questions. It made his head spin.

He turned contemplative blue eyes to the frazzled young man in front of him. He knew the look that was gracing Sirius' eyes – it was the manic one of a desperate man. And it was a desperation that he could understand completely. For months, Sirius had been looking for his godson, following every lead no matter how outrageous or far-fetched. Now he had him…but Harry didn't remember him. A horrible feeling truly and possibly one of the worst kinds in the world to experience: the rejection of a loved one.

The nightmare a few days ago opened some hopes that Harry did remember him in someway. The boy had instinctively reacted to Sirius. It was only until the next morning, when he had been waking up and Sirius called him 'Harry' that he had recoiled. Another argument ensued, which resulted in Harry being utterly apathetic to Sirius once more. Plainly put, they were back where they started…except worse. With each passing day, he noticed the increased tension and frustration in the child: he was itching to get out of Hogwarts and was clearly becoming more and more desperate.

Which, considering the circumstances, was not a good thing. 

"That's it, I'm calling him!" His concentration was shattered with this outburst, attention drawn completely to Sirius now. The extreme anxiety was horrifically clear now, that look in his eyes reminiscent of when he had been on the run from the Ministry. "I know he's annoying and a pain, but he has the answers!"

_Could he mean…but how?_ "Sirius, what are you –"

"I KNOW YOU'RE WATCHING! BE RESPONSIBLE AND BENEVOLENT FOR ONCE AND HELP ME!"

At the shout, the hairs on the back of his neck immediately began to rise in trepidation. The dark energy was palpable, cackling and cracking in the air in wrathful bolts, causing Fawkes to let out an alarmed shriek. However, unlike most dark magic, phoenix song did not have any effect at all in what was happening. It was all that he could do to just watch…and wait. Wait to see if the god of death would indeed come at the call.

Then it all abruptly stopped, the air shimmering for a second before the familiar figure of Thanatos appeared. _Something…seems off…_ He couldn't put his finger on it, but this seemed to be the antithesis of what he remembered of the Grim Reaper. Dumbledore cast a subtle recognition charm, which came up unsuccessful. Perhaps they did not work on gods? But there was different this time.

He looked exactly as he had before – the same blue eyes, dark hair, and handsome face – Sirius' resemblance to him extremely striking. But he was wearing black robes this time, as well as a black cloak. His eyes were hard and lacking the lightheartedness he had witnessed last time, expression grave and serious. Arms were folded across his chest, as if he were demanding an explanation.

"Who are you?" he demanded, fixing Sirius with a piercing gaze. "And why did you summon me?"

Dumbledore blinked in bemusement. Was this a joke? Because if it was…

"DON'T YOU DARE!" the younger man yelled. "I'VE HAD THAT ENOUGH! TELL ME WHAT IN THE WORLD IS GOING ON BECAUSE I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE SOME IDEA ABOUT THIS WHOLE MESS!"

"No, I don't know who you are," the god returned coldly. "Watch your tongue and remember exactly **who** you are dealing with, mortal."

This left Sirius momentarily dumbfounded. "What is with you?" he whispered. "Do you all just like to see me suffer?" His answer was expectant silence, the remark shrugged off as if it were nothing. "I'm Sirius Black. Descendant, remember?"

"Sirius?" the god repeated skeptically. He frowned in thought before his eyes widened in apparent epiphany. "Black, like Nathaniel Black?" Sirius nodded mutely, now suspicious…and Dumbledore could vouch that he felt the same. The god, however, just sighed and ran a harried through his dark hair. "Figures. When you summoned me, did you by chance use **any** adjectives?"

Seeing that Sirius was not taking this…well (but who could blame the poor man), Dumbledore decided to step it. "I believe he used the words _'responsible'_ and _'benevolent'_. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," was the deadpan reply. "When you summon a god, you have to be careful about wording. And the word _'responsible'_ is something that does not describe Thanatos." There was a moment of silence, largely of incomprehension, before the god decided to elaborate (and he was pretty annoyed about it). "I'm not Thanatos. Get it? You summoned the wrong god. Which is just **wonderful**. I have a full schedule!"

"Then who are you?" Sirius put out bluntly. "And why do you look exactly like **him**?"

The god shrugged. "We're twins, though I'm older by a few minutes. Hypnos, god of sleep." An eyebrow was raised as he perused over Sirius' appearance. "I should have figured you were my brother's descendant. Both of you are impatient and informal to a fault. And both of you like to keep me from my job! People need to sleep! Even those damned insomniacs…" _Apparently, the twins are as different as night and day._ There was an old Greek myth that sounded similar to this. The goddess of the night and the primeval god of darkness gave birth to a pair of sons, pale-faced and feared. Hypnos granted the gift of sleep, while…**Thanatos**…was the cruel one who brought death and plight. The tales did not put the apparently younger brother in a good light though; pardon the turn of the phrase. But death was hardly ever seen as a blessing anyway. The point was they were in myth. Could the ancient legends to be the key to understanding these beings pulling the strings behind the ways of the world?

"What's with Harry?" was the terse question from Sirius. "He doesn't remember me at all!"

Hypnos snorted. "Amnesia tends to do that." Sirius sputtered in indignation, while the god laughed at the younger man's expression. "You're **_just_**like him." Judging from Sirius' face, he didn't take it was a compliment. "Anyway, I'm sure that my sister only has his best interests at heart. Interests that probably are better for him despite what you think. Family has to stick together, after all." _Family…that would imply that Harry is also related to these gods…how many descendants are there?_ "Anyway, I must be going." The god paused for a moment, given the two of them a thoughtful glance. "You care about the child, do you?"

"Of course, we do," Dumbledore replied, wondering where this was going.

Hypnos sighed. "Well, I can see why Moros – older brother, hope you don't meet him – likes him so much. I'll help you out this once I suppose, but after this, you'll be lucky if I show. Because of you, most of the Pacific is now wide-awake…if you want the kid to stay with you: I suggest you go after him now. Cunning runs in the family. You should've expected that he would escape." With that declaration and a short bow, the god of sleep vanished.

Sirius was out the door even before the word, '_expected'_.

* * *

He tore through the dungeons running, looking everywhere for a way out of the labyrinth corridors to the upper floors. It did not help that nearly all the hallways looked the same. All of them were made of the same kind of old gray stone, the torches lining the wall in the exact pattern, shadows identical in each passageway.His trainers smacked against the stone floor, his speed increased because of the wind magic that was present in his body, eyes searching every small nook and cranny. But it was a veritable maze and he certainly felt like the proverbial mouse caught in it.

Honestly, how did those wizards know how to get around this place? _They could have been courteous and put up signs saying, oh, I don't know…EXIT!_ It was a royal pain in the arse and he was getting nowhere fast. And he needed to get out of here before they found him. Sure, he was safe for the moment. At most, he probably had a few hours before they noticed that he was gone. Night did not want to waste that precious time to be running around lost – he wanted to get out of here!

At the moment, his most dangerous adversaries here were the Headmaster, that Professor Snape, and then Sirius Black. He doubted that Black would hurt him, but he would certainly trap him here. As of the moment, he didn't know what to think of said kidnapper. One moment, he's threatening him, the next he's reassuring him about the nightmare. Of course, Night scowled at the memory, he was called _'Harry'._ He was Nuitari Hawking, successor to the Black Dragon of the Arashi-Tenku, wind elemental, and he would be damned if he would be kept down like this. The wizards had their own problems to deal with. If he ever was part of this world, he was not any longer. They could keep their silly beliefs in Light and Dark, the importance of blood, and their wanton desire to control every single living thing around them. He was not to be manipulated or imprisoned like the rest of them were satisfied to be. He was an elemental and he had pride. There was no way he was going to give up his life in Grey Tower to be locked away like a fragile piece of porcelain treasure. And if the castle itself didn't kill him, then he would do the deed himself if he ran completely out of options.

However, at the moment, there were plenty of options to take.

Abruptly, he pulled himself to a halt. He thought he saw a door as he passed. His eyes narrowed, he stepped closer to the wall, running his hands lightly over the surface. He expected rough cold stone, but instead felt the smooth grain of wood beneath fingers. Continuing to inspect the wall, his hand finally came in contact with the metal door handle. Night grinned in triumph – illusions cast by wizards weren't hard to see through if you knew that it was not real. He twisted the knob and pushed in slightly, the door hinges squeaking slightly as he did so. A cautious eye was put to the small space. The room was empty.

The room was probably the living quarters of one of the professors. But it was sparsely furnished, clearly the taste that ran to someone of a rigid and practical nature. The scheme was largely black and gray, running from the armchairs to the desk in the corner, piled neatly with rolls of parchments. Investigating further, he found a few snake figures along with the badge of…a snake. _Wonderful. I'm in Snape's room. Joy is certainly lacking in this man's life._ There wasn't anything particularly of interest in here, just the usual…Snape things. Even the books in the cases against the wall were lacking in prominence, pertaining largely to Potions textbooks and spellbooks. Another door led to a small chamber, the walls lined with shelves. There were large bottles and boxes, meticulously labeled and cared for, containing various potions ingredients. He recognized a few of them from his own Chemistry class and Professor Coulter's home, though she didn't keep large eyes of Tamorinian newt where the guests could see them. His stomach turned slightly as the reptilian eye rotated in the pale yellow liquid of its jar, fixing him with its hot orange gaze…a gaze that was not living. In that storeroom, there was another door. Voices managed to go through the door and he recognized a familiar drawl. Snape. Repulsed slightly, he retreated back into the sitting room.

_How am I going to do this?!_ Snape was right out there, probably with a group of students. He would need to sneak out of there, but how was he going to that?! First of all, there was Snape, who was probably keeping an eye on the entire classroom like a vindictive vulture. Then there were the students, who probably weren't paying much to the hook-nosed excuse for a teacher anyway. Which meant there were multiple possibilities for capture.

Angry, he barely restrained himself from smashing a dark blue glass vase into pieces. Though he wished he could've done that anyway, just to piss Snape off in general. As he paced in thought, his eyes wandered to a small book lying abandoned on the couch. It was open to the last page. In most cases, he wouldn't care much about it…except the last words on the page were…

_**Sekai – Kage Wolves**._

Scowling slightly, he pocketed the small book. _So that's how he knew about the elemental clans. And about the Sekai-Kage._ How could anyone be so careless to leave this behind for wizards to find? Well, it was pointless now since Snape knew about it already, the old man most likely as well.

Slipping the wand out from underneath his sleeve, he cast a disguise spell on himself. The small mirror on the desk showed that the spell was successful. His scar disappeared and the streaks in his hair disappeared. The emerald eyes that he was apparently known for turned to a deep blue. Looking at himself, he grinned slightly. He looked like a younger version of Tom…though which much messier hair. But that wasn't his fault. It was…whichever of his parents had messy hair. It would only work for a short while though, so he'd have to be quick.

There was a sudden rush in the classroom. Rushing back to the storage room, he peeked through the door to the classroom. The students were getting ready to clean up…though they were horribly disorganized. Particularly a mousy kid that just spilt his potion on a boy with sandy hair beside him, which promptly started to burn through the latter's robes. _Perfect,_ he thought as he saw a relatively annoyed Snape swoop – yes, _swoop_ – down upon the pair. Taking his chance, Night slipped into the room and made to look as if he belonged there. It wasn't too hard: just look partially bored and partially relieved that class ended. He bypassed the lines that formed at the sinks. However, a sharp pain rang through his head when he did so.

There was a tall boy with red hair looking around the room as if something were wrong, before getting smacked sharply on the hand by a shorter girl with bushy hair who had a ladle. _Almost like Bran and Trina,_ he thought wryly. Though it was evident that the girl in this pair was the smarter one, though probably not as much as a smart-alec as Night's best friend was. There was another familiar person who also seemed familiar, a boy with pale blonde hair and aristocratic features. But as soon as the boy opened his mouth, he realized that it was most likely nothing. It was the same boy that was cursed in the Hospital Wing – Mal…something.

He shook himself out of the observations. He only had a short amount of time and there was no point in spending on contemplating the dynamics of Professor Snape's potion classroom. Feigning casualness, Night made towards the exit, making sure to look utterly uninteresting and ordinary. _Everything going to plan…_

He opened the door to slip out when a finger, obviously tentative, tapped him on the shoulder. Night looked around, finding himself at the end of a curious gaze from the clumsy boy, who was currently holding several vials of his botched up potion. Longbottom, if Snape's tirade had been accurate. "Umm…" was the unsure statement, in which Night raised an eyebrow. This only made the boy even more nervous. "Snape didn't dismiss us yet…" Longbottom then stopped, his eyebrows furrowing in thought, before his eyes widened in shock. It was then that he noticed the aura of green…this kid had elemental magic…that meant he could probably…

_Crap!_ His fears were confirmed with the smashing of glass (which no one immediately noticed) followed by a loud exclamation of "Harry?!" – which caught everyone's attention. Snape's black gaze immediately snapped onto him like a predator who caught sight of his prey. _Damn it!_ The class as a whole went forward to him, but he was too quick. On the outside, he quickly shut the door and cast several locking charms on them, a few of them dark. Pleased when he heard frantic banging against the wood, as well as a number of curses from a certain greasy-haired git, he ran towards the stairs at the end of the hallway, which were the first ones that he had encountered that were a way up. As he did so, he felt the charm wear off and he hid the wand once more up his sleeve.

Finally on the main floor – the greater amount of light that nearly blinded him as he went up was a clue, he spied a large set of doors that virtually screamed '_EXIT_'. Though he did feel that a sign still would have helped matters. Seeing no one else around and judging from the fact that he wasn't caught in a deluge of curious students from the dungeons, this was his time. Night took off at a sprint to the doors, a smile lighting his face at the prospect of freedom and fresh air…

…when out of nowhere, Sirius Black appeared right in front of him, effectively catching him in midrun. The light from the window caught the silver material of that strange cloak. He stumbled, but Sirius steadied him. Though his grip on him was tight. Of course, he struggled again and did manage to catch the man a good blow to the ribs, but it didn't seem to do any good. The sound of footsteps approaching made him look up…it was the Headmaster. Even more riled at this failure – _I was so close, damn it! –_ and he did not need to see a kooky old man smiling benignly at him as if there was nothing wrong in the world. Because, by the Almighty, there was something **seriously** wrong!

Looking at Sirius, he could tell that Black was worried, though it was hard to tell with the expression of desperation and anger. Night cursed under his breath, which earned a reprimanding blue glare from Sirius. _Is this guy's sole mission in life to stop me from reaching home?!_ It sure seemed like it. The Headmaster, standing out this time in sky blue robes embroidered with suns and moons, gave him a pat on the head. Which, of course, did not make Night feel better **at all**.

"Well done, my boy," Dumbledore said appreciatively, eliciting a surprised exclamation from Sirius. "An excellent escape attempt on your part. And I do believe that you have effectively enabled Professor Snape to spend more time with his favorite class, the 5th year Gryffindors and Slytherins." The Headmaster's eyes lingered briefly on the Hogwarts uniform, in particular, the Slytherin badge. "There's no need to worry," this time talking to Sirius. "I held back the end of classes so that we could make sure that no one else sees Harry. Though I'll have to think of something about Severus' class-"

"DUMBLEDORE!" A short woman with a distinctly unpleasant and vile face strode – or tried to, as Night wouldn't deem that was walking – over to them. She wore a pink cardigan over her robes, which did not help her looks at all, but rather enhanced the flaws. To his eye, Night saw her more as one hell of a misshapen toad that managed to get into a fight with…something…and managed to survive…unfortunately for the rest of all living organisms. In her pudgy hand, she was waving a limp rubber chicken like a weapon. Behind her were six blue robed men, two of them each keeping a tight hold on three **very** familiar people. Deciding to see the reaction of Sirius and Dumbledore, he could see that they both shared the same feeling of apprehension. But of what, he didn't know.

"I found these three trying to sneak onto the grounds. Elementals," the woman sniffed, giving the men a saccharine smile of approval. Mordecai gave a shrug, Trina sighed, and Bran started trying to imitate the woman's expressions – which earned him a hard smack over the head. Which resulted in the said wizard getting the wind knocked out of him with a well-placed elbow to the gut. "When they refused to identify themselves, we confiscated their wands. However," she brandished the rubber chicken in front of Dumbledore's long crooked nose, waving it as if it explained everything.

"They tried to sneak into Hogwarts and pass as wizards using rubber chickens as wands?" Dumbledore asked blithely. "Ingenious!"

"Thank you," Bran replied, which made Dumbledore smile at the redhead, further angering the woman.

Indeed, she seemed to swell with rage. "How can you act so unconcerned? Elementals are dangerous and volatile! It's been accepted as fact that they are destructive and maniacal," she shrilled. "And they're trying to get in here!"

Trina snorted. "Ms. Toad, said **_dangerous_** and **_volatile_** elementals are present here!"

"And let me guess?" Night inquired dryly. "The crap hit the fan?" They were probably here to rescue him. True, they may have been caught. But that meant that his mother was on her way and close. Though he was amused by the rubber chicken stunt.

"Oh, it did alright." Mordecai answered, rolling his eyes. "But hopefully, we'll get this cleaned up." He gave the woman a disdainful look. "However…"

Night nodded in understanding. "You don't think you'll get all of it?"

"We don't think," Trina hissed vehemently. "We **_know._**"

"Either way," Bran put in, "I'm burning something." He then pointed to the woman and remarked matter-of-factly, "And I think I know **exactly** what it will be."

* * *

There's chapter four. I hope you liked it. I wanted to have this out yesterday, but I've been having a lot of problems with my computer lately. It took forever just to format the chapter, much less have the computer run a program to begin with. Hopefully, it'll be fixed soon.

I know that you're probably wondering how the Phantom elemental managed to attack Hogsmeade and get so close to the school in Elemental Genesis with no problem, while Night's magic seems to be blocked. It isn't a mistake; it's meant to be that way. All I'm saying for the moment is that it has to do with the fact that there is a large difference between a Shining elemental and a Phantom elemental, not in the way of being on different sides of the ideal spectrum. In the same way, there is also a reason as to how Umbridge was aware that Bran, Trina, and Mordecai were elementals…but that's coming soon.

---Raven

QUOTE REFERENCES 

(1) Oscar Wendell Holmes, Jr. The Mind and Faith of Justice Holmes  
(2) Aldous Huxley  
(3) George Santayana, The Letters of George Santayana  
(4) Friedrich Nietzsche  
(5) Johann von Goethe  
(6) Hanlon's Razor  
(7) Robert Frost  
(8) Bede Jarrett, The House of Gold  
(9) Marcus Aurelius  
(10) Josh Billings

_To answer **Arsenal**'s question: _

You've certainly put up with me since the beginning. Therefore, I'm happily obliged to answer.

Pheta's painting did burn in response to _Night's Aria_, but it wasn't because of Night's elemental magic at all. _Night's Aria_ came from Melania's family, therefore dark in nature. Pheta can't stand anything to do with the dark gods, but while she could deal with it if more or less in goddess and mortal form, a very old painting of herself as a _mortal_ couldn't (her name on the frame was 'Phillandra Pheta Gryffindor', meaning that it was made when she was married to Gryffindor).

It did weaken its hold on the castle slightly, but not a lot. Night probably would have succumbed to it sooner if he hadn't played the song. He had also been playing other dark songs from Melania's family. These did protect him. But Pheta is a powerful goddess. It would take a lot more to completely break her hold on Hogwarts.


	5. And Brutus is an Honorable Man

_**Disclaimer:**_ I only own the plot, the concepts and ideas, Grey Tower Town, and any characters you don't recognize.

* * *

**Elemental Prophecies**

* * *

****

Chapter Five  
**And Brutus is an Honorable Man**

"He was my friend, faithful, and just to me;  
But Brutus says, he was ambitious,  
And Brutus is an honorable man.  
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,  
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.  
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?  
When the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept.  
Ambition should me made of sterner stuff,  
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;  
And Brutus is an honorable man."_  
__-William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar_

* * *

Written in blood, that was our history. In truth, it was all we were meant for: our purpose, our lives, our very existence was destined to be on the battlefield. We were fighters, conquerors, soldiers; we were the destroyers of the highest caliber. There were no greater warriors than the Harbingers, we who carried out the law of the Universe, the one of the three who was of the dark, she who was the balance. We were enforcers of the Principles of Nemesis. Vengeance and destruction were promised upon our dark wings, revolution and rebirth embodied in complete annihilation. 

But there was a difference between myself in those long ago days of the Golden Age, that era of wonder and greatness lost forever from the minds of those existing during this new epoch, and who I am now. Back then, in those times sunken into the shadow of the past, I was most certainly not how I am now. Intrinsically, I know this has to do with the punishment that I serve. The Verdict, cruel judgment handed out by the ireful Almighty, far beyond the knowledge of man but imprinted in the very soul of this tiny planet. It had its effect.

I was dark-born; we all were, so we knew such things called emotions. But emotion had not yet evolved in the time that we were created and we were ancient by the time its usual form had finally taken form and shape. Our feelings and sentiments were rudimentary, not as complex as those of neither the gods nor the humans. Though the progression of the latter's has been entirely our doing, this was the catalyst that had began this dance of swords and flame.

A vow of loyalty to the old ideals was made. We drew the line and tainted perfection. We were the serpents who whispered in the woman's ear, tempted her to take the forbidden fruit of _our_ creator, to taste the beauty and bitterness of knowledge. All over the new planet of Eden, whose vibrant and flawless environment was destined to forbear the Almighty's answer to his ultimate warriors, the humans meant for a much higher purpose than even they know (though they suspect) – less powerful but larger in number than angels, easier to control and keep unto his beliefs, his perfect weapon against the lawless minions of Chaos. We slashed our left and right wrists, letting our dark blood seep into the land, undoing the toil of seraphim and cherubim, casting our spells to give emotion to a thoughtless world lacking in passion. However, we did not end it there – the spell spread like a virus and infected the entire universe. The passages of Castle in the Sky were closed.

We succeeded. We destroyed. We brought about the Fall and dooming all to be banned from the virtuous fields of Elysium, the highest of the high Realms of Light. And we also fell.

I fell into the empty darkness, a deep weight closing my eyes as I screamed in unfathomable agony. My wings were lost, glorious ebony feathers ripped away with blood, torn from my back. Flight, the dark wind that had rejoiced in my veins since my creation, was taken away from me. My soul was seared with fire and ice, lightning and thorns, the purest pain inflicted. My consciousness was shredded from the tortured flesh and I was gone. Alone, trapped in a solitary prison of nothingness, like the others, and I knew no more.

I do not remember exactly how I had come back into awareness. In reflection, I realize that I had not woken of my own volition, the fight to see the world again excruciating and exhausting but nevertheless my own doing. It was something else, a strange call, a feeling that I had at the moment did not pinpoint as fear and the desire of survival. My own name was lost to me as I struggled to comprehend, to understand, to blink and take in sight, as I had not seen for a long time…

I was in the body of a child, a babe little more than a year old. A fledgling. I was still on the planet of Eden, but I inhabited the body of a descendant of humans. A power, familiar yet not familiar, was pulsating within the blood. It had taken me long to figure out what it was – darkness, blood of my brethren dark-born, created by the Universe. The power of a dark deity was within me, revitalizing me, while another variation of this force was sent hurtling toward me in the form of green light.

…The blood gave me strength and I protected myself. And as I sent the light away from myself, I heard a crack of metal. I lifted the small hand (I could feel the heat, the tears running down soft cheeks) and saw red life staining my hands. Yet I understood.

I was not strong enough yet. Even so, I was protected by the power of my creator.

The fire raged around me, the messenger choking with the potent power of death, and in the flickering shadows…I saw the silhouette not of a child, but of myself.

And I…I had my wings, the spirit wings of darkness large and majestic even as shadows, as the inferno consumed everything around me. It was what kept myself, Nuitari, from losing my sanity and realization, though entrapped in that strange prison once more.

As well as, though I did not understand it at the time…hope. There was a way out, to cheat eternity. But the question was: at what price was I willing to pay to sacrifice a more innocent and otherwise faultless representation of myself? Am I willing to do such a heartless act, to return to being heartless yet again?

* * *

"There has to be a way out of here," Bran affirmed for the fifth time as he paced to-and-fro from one corner of the room to the other. The carpet under his feet seemed to actually begin to wear thin. But the redhead was no longer concerned with that. It seemed, Night noted with some anger (all towards the wizards), that the effects of this castle were getting to his friends faster than they had to him. It had been three hours alone and already Bran felt a burning sensation in his hands, while Mordecai's experiments with the water in the adjacent bathroom nearly turned them into frozen human icicles. Trina was a bit better off – they were back in his dungeon prison, after all – but even she was beginning to look strained. "Logic dictates that," Bran spat out in distemper. 

Night sighed, wishing he wouldn't have to say this…but it was the truth. And in such a situation, lying about anything wouldn't exactly benefit them – it would hinder them. "Bran, I've been here for practically a week," he pointed out, running a harried hand through his messy black hair, revealing the troublesome scar for a brief moment. He sat on a regular chair, having surrendered the bed to Mordecai for…obvious reasons. "I don't think these people even know the meaning of the word 'logic'." _That's the truth._ Sitting Indian-style on the floor beside him, Trina nodded in agreement.

"Well, either way," came a tired groan from the bed. Mordecai, lying on the pillows and holding a wet towel to a nasty welt on his forehead, attempted to sit up, but was forced back down by the pain in his head. The wind elemental winced in sympathy – he had barely managed to escape the chunks of ice that were blasted at them from that disastrous trial with just a few scratches. The successor to the Blue Dragon got a direct blow to the head. "We have to get out of here. The sooner, the better."

"Mordecai's right," Trina put in, looking up at Night worriedly. He was their leader after all, according to rank. "This is getting way out of hand. We know how bad it can get for witches and wizards that just have elemental blood, but what about us? We're full-fledged elementals." She shivered and gave a scathing look to the stones that made up their prison, but there was no reaction at all, which was something she wasn't used to. "And even if we can't get out on our own, we know that Ms. Hawking is on her way."

That was the best news they had given him: his mother was coming. Knowing her, she wouldn't be in a particularly good mood. Certainly not enough to make any sort of deal or alliance that he was sure brightened the blasted blue eyes of that crazy Headmaster when that humanoid toad told him of the approaching force. No, when Zylle Hawking was mad, she was mad. And may the graces of Heaven be with you if you were the one that incurred her wrath. Of course, Night had decided to refrain from giving them any warning of such, or of what to expect in general.

Nuitari Hawking, as the Black Dragon successor, felt this was rather fair of him.

"My mum maybe on her way, but I don't want a confrontation, Trina," he said. As much as he wanted one, it wouldn't be the wisest move. Oh, most definitely those wizards were going to pay for what they did. But not at such a tenuous moment, since their powers were on the fritz. "That will just make things worse. We have enough on our plate with Phantoms."

"So, we'll have to just bust ourselves out of here. We got in, we can get out," Bran responded dryly, still pacing, but he kicked the door just for good measure, bringing a grin to Night's face. "I haven't figured it out yet, but we're definitely leaving." He paused, giving the other three a droll look. "And absolutely before I go kaboom. We're getting that straight right off the bat."

"And we're burning something," Night added laughing.

Catching on, Trina put in gleefully, "Preferably that old toad that caught us, Bran?"

"Would I have it any other way?"

Mordecai groaned from the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes (rather dramatically, Night had to admit). "Whatever happens, don't expect me to clean it up. Or rather, extinguish whatever mess he has planned in his head. I want nothing to do with it."

"Partypooper," Bran accused before turning to Night. "So, oh awesome and powerful leader, what's our next move?"

He smirked. It would be possible, now that they were all there. Four elementals of each element were powerful enough together. The harmony of the elements were not complemented and fused together to generally make a stronger force, but the basis of all four put together at all would amplify the power incredibly. And when those said four elementals were the clan leaders?

Those wizards wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

The last dim rays of the sun managed to slit through the thick curtains of the library, nearly drowned out by the harsh overhead lights. The tables gleamed brightly, as did the golden book indexes on their pedestals, ready to locate the books that the young and eager wizard or witch were seeking. Here and there, some knickknacks of the rather boring variety graced the corners and such. The librarian's desk occupied a corner of seemingly godlike status in the center. Only the aisles of the library, the shadows and the shade cast by their tall shapes, comforted their dark-starved souls in this place of callous light. 

The young Gryffindor girl was practically seething with anger as she stared down the three other dark spies. Was she the only one who displayed much emotion? Possibly. "What do you mean we do nothing?!" she shrilled, earning her admonishing glares from her companions. Another came from the skeletal librarian, her beady eyes boring holes into her for daring to disturb the sanctity of her domain. Bah. It wasn't as if Alexandra Quinn cared much about what that old vulture thought anyway. What was important, was what they were going to do about the current situation.

Which was, to Alexandra's ire, to do nothing.

Brian Reginald, the resident Slytherin and necromancer, gave her a scathing look of disapproval. She didn't flinch. He was the leader though, so she couldn't override his orders and do her own thing. Which did nothing to improve her own short temper. "We have our orders to do nothing _for the time being_," he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Those came directly from the Lady and we aren't going to go against her after swearing loyalty and allegance."

The mediator who was sorted into Hufflepuff (and the possessor of many admirers) frowned in thought. "But this is serious-"

"Of course, it is!" Alexandra broke in. "The Dark Prince is here, captive, and we can't do anything about it-" Abruptly, she found her mouth closing shut...and she couldn't open it. For a moment, she mumbled in utter incoherence before finally tracing the source of the spell. The Indian girl and Ravenclaw, Veda Kakar, sat innocently and stared at her with inscrutible brown eyes, daring her to try to break her spell.

Dark justices. They claimed that you shouldn't cross one, particularly those who were trained and taught on the sacred island of Avalon. Dark justices were among the elite of dark magic manipulators. As a Hecatian, she had only heard rumors and tales of them. After all, Hecatians were devoted more to the ancient witch sorcery of the goddess Hecate, standing among the ranks of such great practioners as Circe and Medea, they were the original Druids of old Britain. Their business was of the complete and natural world of the dark, of the cycles of the moon, sometimes even communicating with those messengers of Death, the Grims. Potions and crystals, theirs was an primeval and lost art.

Dark justices on the other hand, used dark magic through their minds, focused it into runes and spells. Something that was completely foreign to Alexandra, who trusted the natural flow of magic, wild and untamed. When she had spoken of it to Forrest, he also mentioned it found the prospect strange. As a mediator, one who could speak to the dead and contact spirits, his gift also came naturally. Brian, on the other hand, was less understanding about it. It seemed it took more concentration and will to raise the dead, as well as control them, than not.

"What Forrest means to point out before you interrupted, Alexandra," she said, clipped tones through and through, "is that the Lady herself gave that command. Why would she do that, when her own flesh and blood is in danger here? After years of protection, it doesn't make much sense."

Now that she thought about it...it didn't.

Brian shook his head, something Alexandra noticed he sometimes did when too many thoughts were going through his head. "I'm not sure whether we can answer that-"

Forrest interjected, "Or if it is our place to know what plans the gods have in mind to begin with."

"Right," Brian conceded. "What we do know, is that we aren't supposed to act. We'll make a compromise on it then. If anything happens and we see that the Lord Harry in danger, we'll abort the mission to protect him."

"And what it's too late to do anything?" Veda asked, keeping her silencing charm on Alexandra in place and strong. "This is no ordinary place and is especially perilous for him, more so than to even us."

"We'll know - the darkness will tell us. I know that for sure."

It was then that Alexandra noticed the pale face of a girl hiding in the nearby aisle...and from the looks of it, she had heard every single word of what they said. Alexandra knew that girl - she was in her house. A prefect with high grades and a promising future, who seemed depressed as of late. That bushy hair was unmistakable. Hermione Granger. And she was exactly what they didn't need at the moment.

She racked her mind for what she knew of the girl – such knowledge was essential in case they would need to perform a memory altering charm or whatnot. Good grades and the reputation of being a know-it-all and a bossy busybody, which was something Alexandra was not going to counter at the moment. Also, she was a bit of a teacher's pet, always with her hand raised and doing more than she was told to do. She had an impressive comprehension of wizarding spells. She hung out with two redheaded siblings, a nice girl she herself was friends with, Ginny Weasley. The other redhead, the brother, was strange. An unfamiliar aura surrounded him, sort of like the dark variety, but she could tell. He was no devotee of the dark. Ron Weasley had been a puzzle to her, sometimes to the point of talking to himself. All three of them had the habit of being moody as of late, something her dormmates attributed to…

…Damn it. She was a friend of the Prince! That meant that she couldn't harm her. Which would limit her actions considerably. Alexandra's eyes narrowed as she saw the girl's fingers tighted around the wand, watching as thoughts passed through her head, the tightening of her mouth. Granger was going to attack and sooner than later.

Why couldn't things go simply for once?

Snapping her fingers sharply, several heavy books on the top shelves of the bookcase slid out and dropped like falling stones on the poor girl's head. With a dull thud, the witch collaspsed unconscious to the floor, the carpet thankfully cushioning (and muffling) the fall. The other three turned around to see the commotion, before Brian turned back to her with an exasperated look. But all he said was, "Put an invisibility spell on her and float her out of here. Take her to one of the secret rooms. Let's see how much she knows."

As they were leaving, Veda taking care of floating Hermione Granger's cataleptic body out the library, with Forrest taking the lead, she smacked Brian hard over the head. He hadn't had the mere decency to thank her! Jerk.

* * *

The four of them stood in a circle around the warded door of their prison. Together, they would represent the balance between the elements, the balance of leadership, the balance of personality and friendship. It was a difficult undertaking, even under the best of times, to do this spell. And this was certainly not the best of times. Yet, Night reflected, what choice did they have? It was only a matter of time before they all either died or went mad by the horrid magical pressure of this place. The others had been experiencing it under at a higher rate than he had, but even he sensed something eating away at his mind, a phantasm at the very edge of his thoughts... 

_…He couldn't see the body of the monster, only the arms. They were shapely – a woman's – with gentle and graceful hands reaching out as if to embrace him. They were simply perfect…but he felt repulsed, sickened by the mere sight of them. He retreated further, farther back within the comforting darkness that seemed to dominate his mind, while they continued to try to grab him. He could tell they were getting impatient. The arms became tendrils of ivory ivy and golden briar, growing, extending…wanting to choke and squeeze the life out of him…_

His hair became more toussled as he tried to shake the thoughts from his head. Now wasn't the time to be dwelling on such imaginings, however real they were. Even if he was under the impression that there was a warning. This took a lot of concentration and effort, something that his strange forbodings had nothing to contribute to.

In the circle, they stood opposite the other person whose element contrasted their own. Bran and Mordecai, fire and water, Night and Trina, wind and earth. Nodding to each other as a signal, they joined hands and focused their elemental energies. In this place dominated by wizarding magic, their elemental magic that they were exuding was comforting and welcoming. Or perhaps it was because it was he was so starved of that power he had come so used to be around. Though he wouldn't admit out loud, he rather missed his mother's own trademark power…

They each glowed a respective color to their elements, their powers manifesting similarly. He couldn't see his own, being in the center of it all, but Trina's earth power was glimmering like diamonds caught in the light. Bran's aura was flickering like a wild flame and Mordecai's shimmered like the silver surface of water. Within moments, their powers joined together in a shared rhythm, pulsating with energy from themselves.

A shrill wind formed around their circle, loud in the silence that pervaded the room, the very force causing the bed and desk to creak, the distant cracking of glass was the sound of the bathroom's mirror breaking. He winced at the electric feeling flowing through their joined hands as their elements began to flow and combine together. The wind shrieked even more loudly as their powers began to reach a fevered pitch, the door sealing their prison shaking on its hinges.

As one, all four elementals let go.

The door splintered into pieces as it fell onto the cold stone of the dungeons outside. It was late at night – the grandfather clock proclaiming it one in the early morning – and the torches lining the corridor were dark, casting blessed shadows. Lying sprawled on the floor lay two Aurors, prone and unmoving. A quick once over proved them to be alive, just stunned. _Probably until the morning or so,_ was Mordecai's diagnosis. It took a bit of effort (on the boys' part – for Trina refused to help one of them who happened to insult her when she was caught, so she went into the next room for their things) to drag them into the room – they didn't want to leave them right there. Let no one claim that Grey Tower elementals were indecent people.

"That worked well," brunette girl approved, shrugging on one of the wizard robes that they still had. It was a necessary disguise. Not many people knew they were here, so if they were caught, they would just be thought of as misbehaving students out for a midnight romp of mischief. Whatever. But wizards had to be stupid – why would they leave the very items that they confiscated from supposed enemies and put them in the next room?! He could just imagine his mother and the other leaders of the Arashi-Tenku scoffing at the very idea. "And we put those guys back in the room – not that they deserved it, those bigoted pigs – but where do we go from here?" She glanced uneasily down the hallway, hugging herself and rubbing her arms with her hands. "We need to get out of here, but I can't get _anything _from these stones. The wizarding magic is so old that it's incompatible with me."

Night frowned in thought, trying to come up with a solution, but was distracted by Mordecai's question. "Night, didn't you nearly get out of here last time? Do you remember how you did it? If you do, then we have a pretty good chance." The water elemental gave Night a glance, one that was pleading for him to answer in the affirmative.

The dark-haired boy blinked his emerald green eyes. He **had** found a way out before. But he didn't know consciously. Most of the way was guesswork and a strange sense of déjà vu. _Which doesn't mean I've been here before,_ he stubbornly maintained. _It was probably some fluke or something. Maybe it's just my own wizarding magic._ To the disappointment of the other three, he nodded no. "A vague idea at best. I was going on my own – and trust me, it's like a bloody maze down here. No signs or landmarks anywhere to distinguish one hallway from the other." He scowled at the memory, the feeling of being trapped, like a rat in an maze, the cheese (or freedom, in his human case), difficult and watched at every moment. "Besides," he pointed out next, "I think I went thorough a private room belonging to one of the teachers here. One of the teachers whose dislike of me is a severe understatement."

Bran shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Trina and the sigh from Mordecai. Night, however, decided to listen. Bran, intelligence-wise, was the smartest out of all of them. For all his sarcastic quips, Bran usually was…right, to Night's chagrin. "It's our best shot and it's one that we know for sure will get us to the exit. I say we go for it."

"And if this teacher wakes up?" Mordecai questioned.

As much as he hated to admit it, and despite the risks, the redhead was correct. He would just have to hope his 'vague idea' of his previous escape attempt would suffice. Night sighed himself, "It's the best plan we've got. Let's just hope I remember the way. Follow me." Putting his fingers to tell them to stay silent, they made a quiet trek down the dungeon passage, keeping an eye out for any movement or threat. Trina sped up to walk at his side and whispered, "You didn't answer his question. What if this teacher **does **wake up…or is an insomniac?"

"Let's hope not," he murmured back. "But if he does, I get the first crack at the guy." At her knowing smirk, he clarified, "He's a certified git. Complete lack of decorum and manners."

Mordecai snorted, quickly covering up his laughter. Bran, on the other hand, commented grimly, "What do you expect from wizards?"

It took about a half-hour to find the fight corridor where the door was, all of them frustrated and tired by the end of it. Especially since, as Mordecai had pointed out, they had passed it four times before they realized it. To Night's credit, he defended himself (_"I probably **did** pass this way four times by the time I found it!_). Trina quickly diffused the argument, to Bran's regret (_"We've got more important things to do! Argue later!")_ and they carefully made their way into the office.

It was more forbidding in the darkness than during the daytime – the grays and blacks were deeper and more menacing, the green not to be seen. In a lucky manuever, Mordecai clasped his hand over Trina's mouth before she had a chance to scream at the sight of the silver snakes adorning the fireplace's mantlepiece. "This man has no joy in his life," Bran grumbled to an amused Night, waiting for the others at the entrance to the potions storage room.

All movement (and breathing) stopped at the sound of footsteps in an adjacent room that Night had not noticed in his previous visit. With a whispered curse, he realized that it must be the teacher's bedroom. A dim light illuminated the floor beneath it and they could here the bustle the man (_Snape_, Night thought while grimacing), as he went about whatever business he did at this hour of the night. He and Bran quickly ducked into the potions room, Mordecai and Trina sprinting in after them, and it took all his self-control to not slam the door behind them. Indeed, they all jumped at the slam Snape himself had made when exiting his bedroom, as well as his rather colorful epithets for a few people. With a few well-chosen signals, Bran was appointed lookout, the other three went into the main potions classroom.

It – and the hallway outside – were clear and it wasn't long until Bran rejoined them, looking perplexed. Which wasn't something Night wanted during this – Bran always had a habit of thinking on things that puzzled him, to the point of not paying attention to anything else. From the stern look gracing Trina's face, he could see the same thoughts crossing her mind. "He was leaving for somewhere," Bran explained, tapping his chin in thought. "And he wasn't happy about it at all. The bloke was wearing a mask. Also kept grabbing his left arm, like he was in pain or something."

"It isn't our concern," Mordecai reprimanded. "We have to get out of here, not wonder what strange things that guy is up to. By the oceans, it's probably something we don't want to know. Who in their right mind keeps mermaid's blood and Favara Venus Fly trap teeth in their potions stores?" At the miffed reply of 'Professor Coulter', Mordecai turned red and muttered something about her being 'a completely different case'.

On the same thread and the promise that they weren't too far off now, they made their way to the upper levels, the stairwell slightly treacherous in the thick darkness and lack of light, silently rejoicing at the onset of fresher air. They were in the large chamber again, the one with the doors that led to the outside, to freedom. Smiling happily and receiving two thumps on the back, they prepared to make their way across the hall. Night was about to take one step out of the stairwell's shadows when they heard two sets of footsteps. One was unsure and hurried, immediately recognized as fleeing. The other was paced and confident, clearly taking their time. There was a crash of metal and a plaintive cry of hurt from the first person, the second one laughing.

Everything echoed loudly in the stillness of the night.

"Well, well," they heard a voice, aristocratic and smooth, used to being listened to. The name 'Malfoy' came to Night's mind immediately and the picture of the pompous blonde in that class he had interrupted earlier. That and a feeling of dislike emerged. He didn't bother questioning where it came from – he had a feeling that he didn't want to. "What are you doing out of bed, Longbottom? I'm sure that even an Gryffindor, despite their limited to lack of any intelligence, could tell that curfew passed hours ago."

"G-Go away, Malfoy!"

"By Merlin! Am I hearing right? Longbottom actually showing some backbone?" You could hear the sneer in the second person's – Malfoy's – very voice. "Next thing you know, I'll be admitting that Potter actually **did** make an appearance in our Potions class!" Night peeked around the wall of dark stone to witness the scene. One was obviously Malfoy – Zylle once said you could always tell a rich ponce from the way they carried themselves, as if the world should be thanking a higher power for their mere existence. He ignored the twinge of familiarity, of recognition, at the sight of that white-blond hair and the mean pointed face. The other boy was obviously trying to put up a good front, but wasn't quite succeeding. Night could see the boy's slightly stout figure and the round face, which held that same look of shock that Night had seen just hours ago. His eyes narrowed, this was the boy who alerted that snarky git of a professor (who didn't deserve the title) that he was there.

"He was there!" the round-faced yelled back. "He was! I know what I saw!"

Malfoy scoffed, "Wishful thinking. If Potter was back, why did he run?" A cruel smile began to grace the refined features. "Maybe he didn't want to go back to your cozy little gang of Gryffindors. Finally realized that you bunch are hardly worth the time of anyone. What if he was a ghost of Potter, just wandering about in the halls?" Mordecai winced at the sound of the laughter, Bran pulling an annoyed face. _"Sounds like Simeon Bradley,"_ Trina mouthed to him, her face angry, Night nodded in agreement.

"Ah well," Malfoy concluded, chuckling. The blonde slipped his wand out of his robe's sleeves and Longbottom immediately paled. "Whether Potter is here or not hardly is anything important." The wand leveled, aimed at the other's throat.

The spell did ricochet off a suit of armor and scorched a segment of wall. The girlish shriek that would have elicited from Malfoy's mouth was muffled by Mordecai's hand and the wizard was held down firmly by both the water elemental and Night. Smiling grimly, Bran rose to his feet and offered a hand of help to the Gryffindor boy he had just tackled to the floor. Longbottom scooted away nervously until he was backed up to the wall. The redhead merely shrugged and pulled him up by the front of his robes. A small distance away, Trina picked up the two fallen wands.

"You three just can't resist a fight, can you?" she said wryly, throwing a meaningful glance at where he and Mordecai held down Malfoy. "Just because I said he's like a wizarding version of our 'beloved' Simeon Bradley, doesn't mean to just attack him!"

"Well, **some **of us, my dear girl," Bran intoned dryly, "like to attack versions of Simeon Bradley. And variations of said example. It just gives us a higher purpose in life."

"And a wonderful sense of satisfaction. Which is why you're planning to be a lawyer," Night calmly stated, releasing his hold on Malfoy. Mordecai prevented the wizard from running off easily. Malfoy, it seemed to Night, was…a weak ferrety little thing.

"Damn straight. Burn those…crap, burning's not allowed now unfortunately. But burning in the metaphorical sense? I embrace the concept," Bran continued. Followed by belated, "Ouch! Why am I always being abused by you, woman!" Nevertheless, both kept an eye on the wizard they had just rescued even if they were not keeping a strong physical grip on him.

"Where's that old toad when you need her, eh?" Mordecai quipped to him. "Now, when she's gone and we don't have any opportunity, Bran is in a thorough mood for burning. Think we can make a substitute, here?" The water elemental was joking, but Night could swear (and he laughed at this, which probably didn't help at all) that the blonde wizard turned as white as a sheet. Probably because of the history of witch burning and all.

Night sniggered mildly before turning to Malfoy (who, if possible, turned even paler), the teen whispering softly when he saw his face, "Potter." It wasn't a question. Yet it did annoy him considerably that, once again, he was being called 'Harry Potter'. So much so that it caused him to give the wizard a swift backhand to the head, followed by an irritated chain of muttering over the, in his opinion, mistaken identity. It had been nearly over a week, he was sick of it all! By the gods and Lethe itself, he was entitled to some violence!

He missed the spasm of fear that crossed Longbottom's face, too caught up in his aggravation. "Wonderful way to get on my good side," he said darkly, throwing a glare in the blonde teen's direction (who was looking quite shell-shocked at the moment). "I'm not this _Harry Potter_ everyone seems to be thinking I am, so let's leave it at that." His tone, and Trina's impatiently tapping foot, left no room for discussion.

"So, what do we do with these gents, oh exalted leader?" Bran drawled, his blue eyes…dare Night say – twinkling with a mischievous intent. "I believe it would be rather boring to just let them go on their way peacefully." Trina sighed, throwing the confiscated wands to Bran (who caught them deftly), and grabbed the collar of Longbottom's robes before he had a chance to scamper. Mordecai gave the wizard currently in his grip a questioning look when Malfoy made what seemed to be a pathetic whimpering sound.

Drolly, Trina added while keeping a firm hold on the visibly trembling Gryffindor, "Well, they're **_both_** breaking their curfew. I should think it only fair that we do something. Though personalities and circumstances should be taken into account." Night took a step away from Malfoy – the latter looked as if he were going to be sick right there and then.

It was true that Night wasn't inclined to let them off that easily. He had just been kept in a underground cell in a hazardous place to his health. What was clear was that they needed to leave and to leave quickly while they were at it. But they needed to effectively bypass those blasted guards. They didn't have that much knowledge of the school…but the students…

"Mordecai, hypothetically, would we be breaking the terms of the Paragon Treaty if we take a few…visitors with us back home?" he asked. The Paragon Treaty, made in 1257 and revised countless times over the years (in particular, during the 1800s when some strange wizard arrived in Grey Tower and did some strange things, but that was a completely different matter altogether), governed the relationships between elementals and other magical groups. It was an integral part of any elemental's education, vital to the survival of the clans. If he remembered correctly, there was something about wizards '_visiting_' the clan lands. If anything, he'd have to bend the law a bit and claim that it said nothing about _'visiting of one's own free will'_. Then again, he had had no intention of '_visiting_' Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry of his own free will either. "I don't believe that we would, but I want to make sure."

"Not at all," Mordecai replied, not missing a beat. "But there's one problem." He gave him a level glance. "While we are the future leaders of the clan, we have no real authority to take the Paragon Treaty under such terms. Only the actual leaders could do that. Like Trina's dad or your mum."

At this last statement, Malfoy let out a snort of derision and muttered something under his breath, smirking. But the wizard backed down at the intense emerald green glance turned his way. "What," Night hissed, "was that?" He did not know why he cared so much, but there was something in that mockery that made him short-tempered. Perhaps it was just Malfoy's nature to just piss people off or at least infuriate them. Either way, he felt angry at what he _thought_ Malfoy had tittered. Even if he knew for a fact that it wasn't true at all, that his mother was still alive and well, it still made his blood boil.

"Your mother, Potter," Malfoy commented, the bravado irking his nerves even more, "died a _long _time ago. If I recall, because of you."

A swift punch in the stomach silenced the wizard and Malfoy went limp in Mordecai's grip. Night would not deny that he felt good after this.

"Seriously, Night," "Trina said into the silence that followed after. Longbottom moaned softly but was silenced by a quick bright green stare. "Was that **_really_** necessary?"

"Yes, it was," was the terse reply.

"Pheh," Mordecai scoffed. "And I bet you're not the one who's going to drag his worthless body, but us lowly subordinates?"

"Right-o."

Bran smirked. "Government at work," he commented sarcastically.

* * *

Severus Snape left Hogwarts to go to the latest of Voldemort's Death Eater meetings with the full knowledge that this wasn't going to go well. His Dark Mark burning dully on his left arm had initially awoken him from his rather fitful sleep and it wasn't a welcome addition in the least. After the fiasco with that perpetual pest Potter, now with no memory and under the delusion that he was an elemental (one with a healthy dose of arrogance to boot), he had looked forward to a quiet night of rest and later to directing his frustration on the first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws the next morning. 

Heaving on the cold stone floor of Voldemort's lair, bleeding profusely but still managing to somehow retain consciousness, he was beginning to doubt he would have the opportunity to see the dawn.

He was in bad shape. His legs had long given out beneath him, unable to support him through the pain. It was difficult to see, but his black robes were sodden with blood. His already sickly complexion had turned ashen and a dribble of red trailed down from his mouth. Clenched teeth were tinted red and his greasy black hair hung down. His white Death Eater mask was lying abandoned on the floor feet away, cracked down the middle. Black eyes were still aware and they watched their tormentor with unhidden hatred.

"My, my," that repulsive high-pitched voice commented, "he's still alive. And still fighting." _Bloody bastard,_ were the defiant thoughts running through his head. This time, he made no attempt to hide them. Let him see into his mind if he wanted to. If he was going down, he was going to go down with the Dark Lord knowing **exactly **what he thought of him. "I must say, Severus, you were quite the valuable asset. It's unfortunate that someone of your rare caliber must die."

He could see, blood red tingeing the edges of his vision from repeated Cruciatus curses, the emaciated figure of 'his Lord', sitting high in his throne, a cruel smile gracing his lips. That new wand, may its maker rot in hell for creating such a vile instrument. Ever since Voldemort had come into possession of it, his propensity for torture had unfortunately increased. Perhaps it had something to do with that mysterious (and, he had to admit, beautiful) blonde woman he had seen wandering the halls in the pale and revealing garments.

It could be that woman's doing. She seemed the type that was used to having her every whim catered to. A real snooty act that one and she walked down the halls as if she had owned them. Of course, it was doubtful that she wanted to be seen in the first place. During that time, he wasn't exactly supposed to be there. Still, as he mentioned to Dumbledore later about her, she seemed extremely familiar to him.

But no. She wasn't here right now. And Voldemort kept glancing to the corner, where two young men, probably in their late teens, were standing. Unlike the other Death Eaters, they wore black combat robes…and black armor?! He moved his dark eyes in their directions and they simultaneously smirked at him. They looked exactly alike…well; he could vaguely discern some differences between the two. He couldn't tell how, but they were the same and not at the same time – perhaps it was that one of them seemed more controlled than the other. The pallor of their skin, the dark hair, as well as those damned knowing blue eyes reminded him greatly of a younger Sirius Black, standing to the side enjoying every minute of his embarrassment during those long past school days. The parallels between them and the annoying mutt did not help matters in the least.

Instinctively, he knew that they were the ones to snitch him out. And that they didn't care either way for the trivialities of this war – they just wanted to watch, as if it were some kind of play acted out on a stage for them, the audience.

The mere prospect of that thought and of those sick teenagers in the corner, swathed in the darkness and shadows, made him want to cringe. But Snape refrained. Why? If he was going to die here, he was going to face it like a man. Or, even more pathetically, like an idiotic Gryffindor.

For the record, that thought didn't comfort him in the very least.

"Why would you betray me, Severus?" Voldemort inquired, his voice hissing like the lazy snake lounging at his feet. The tone was easy and unhurried. He knew why – escape was impossible. There was no way to apparate or portkey, he was in no condition to duel (much less a hundred gathered Death Eaters eager for blood as well as a few elementals), and because he had rushed over, there were no chances for a timely save by Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix. He, Severus Snape, was screwed over big time. There was no point in denying it. "You could've been great and had whatever you wanted! Fortune, recognition, _revenge…_"

Snape visibly flinched – those **had **been his original goals, of course. To be successful and prove all others wrong – that he had ability. To gain his father's praise and love. To get back at all those who had mocked him. But times had changed – **_he _**had changed. He wasn't that weak teenager keen on getting a little attention, but a man who knew that the world was heartless and that recognition really didn't amount to much anyway.

At his glare, Voldemort shrugged nonchalantly. "Ah well. There is no point in keeping a traitor alive. And I'm sure that there are other potions masters that I can utilize for my plans. Good-bye, Severus Snape." The Dark Lord raised his wand, the red metal glinting malevolently in the torchlight. The Death Eaters, who had already left a large gap around him, moved even farther away from him.

This was it. Snape watched impassively as he saw the lips of that monster of a man form those dreaded words, but didn't hear them. Maybe he didn't want to. The green light ejected flew towards him at a snail's pace, as if time itself was slowing down.

…Pity, really. He had a **_good_** lesson to teach those Hufflepuffs…and he didn't even have the chance to take another crack at Potter again…

Snape braced himself for speeding death, but it never came. A wall of light appeared in front of his eyes, white and bright, and the curse cancelled out immediately upon hitting it. Voldemort had risen to his feet in alarm, the Death Eaters drawing their wands.

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked up to see a young woman with violet hair, streaked and spotted with bright red. Her attire was bright, yellow and conspicuous among the gray and black shadows, the orange and blue striped sash tied around her waist trailing to the floor. Pale green eyes on a pretty face were not focused on Voldemort (who suddenly looked fearful), but on the twins in the corner. They were frowning, not angrily, but more like children whom just had candy taken away from them. One, the more serious of them opened his mouth to speak, but the mysterious woman silenced them with a look.

A flash of light and the scene before him vanished. His surroundings spun around him wildly, the colors muddling and blurring.

_"You are under my protection, Severus Snape. That is why you were saved. It would do you well to remember that gods are not all gods of light have the best interests for creation and not all gods of darkness aim to destroy it. This war is dangerous and the lines are not – and I doubt they ever will be – drawn clearly. Do not put faith in the immortals, put faith in the Great Three."_

In that strange limbo, he made to ask a question, but never had the chance.

_"The elementals of Grey Tower will be your best allies, appeal on the name of Sekai-Kage and your grandmother. They will listen. The past holds the secrets of the future and Slytherin has the answers. Go to Grey Tower and look back in the mists of memory. Slytherin has the answers that are needed."_

The world righted itself and the white ward of the Hospital Wing materialized before him. He saw Madam Pomfrey rushing towards him, a look of shock on her face.

_"I imagine you want revenge. Ask Sirius Black to summon his ancestor. Deimos and Phobos do not think of the future. Thanatos, their brother, must be informed of their doings." _

A feeling of smugness filled him. So those two **were **relatives of Black. And it did seem like they wanted to kill him. Stupid family. From the worried look on her face and the strength she was using to drag him to a bed, he could tell the matron was worried. But he was too focused on maintaining the already declining connection to reassure her…or brush her off.

_"If he asks how you knew, say Iris told you. And also tell him that I don't owe him anything. Please emphasize that for me, because Nat can be an annoying prat when he wants to be."_

He blacked out when his head the pillow, noting that he didn't feel in pain anymore. The following morning, Snape wouldn't know how to answer Madam Pomfrey's questions as to how he suddenly healed from his grievous injuries. Then, he would later suffer a fresh surge of rage (which Pomfrey claimed wasn't healthy for him at all) when given two pieces of information the next morning – one, Potter escaped and two, Black went after him.

* * *

_**Four to five hours later…on an empty road about five miles from the town of Hogsmeade, nearly dawn…**_

It had taken a few moments to get Zylle to stop hugging and kissing him in relief. Of course, he wasn't particularly complaining about the actual act. It was nice to know he was cared for and missed. But it was a bit embarrassing to have it done in front of a large group of adults…and his friends…and two wizards who seemed to have it embedded deeply in their psyche that he was someone named Harry Potter. But even so, she kept him close by her. And it didn't help that Shadow immediately decided to tackle him and demand to stay in his arms for the duration. To his immense surprise, Hedwig was already there, perched on his mother's shoulder (Zylle explained to him that Hedwig appeared seemingly out of nowhere a few hours ago and had a strange 'conversation' with Shadow). There were many pats on the backs, hugs, and embraces and so on.

They didn't escape the inevitable lecture on how elementals – even if they were future leaders – were supposed to follow the orders of the clan leader. Though Zylle was amused by rubber-chicken/wand stunt. And was impressed by their level of cunning and overall infiltration. But that didn't excuse them from breaking clan rules. The punishments varied according to parent. It was his unfortunate luck that he had the worst of the retributions: extra high-intensity training after school as well as doing an extra credit project (and presentation) for Professor Coulter. Without the extra credit. Mordecai and Trina were just stuck with the project.

Bran, as expected, would be dead once they would reach Grey Tower. Not only were his angry father and formidable mother waiting at home. Oh no. His grandfather Conrad (a former Red Dragon) and his witch grandmother Lara Weasley-Ravencroft were also waiting for him. As Bran reminded them all before he collapsed to the ground in despair (or something akin to it, no one could really tell), he was expendable – he had several siblings. And a multitude of cousins.

While this was all occurring, the wizards were awkwardly exchanged between various people as the four elementals were greeted. Malfoy had woken up about an hour before they had rejoined Night's mother and the elementals and was extremely whiny about every single little hardship. It had taken several carefully phrased questions to point out that if he thought he was better than they were (a result that they really didn't know how he arrived at to begin with), then a simple walk shouldn't be a problem. Of course, this shut him up. Thank the heavens. But Malfoy, still proving to be a nuisance, attempted to run off again. He only succeeded in tripping into a pile of mud due to Mordecai's opportunely well-placed foot.

Longbottom, or as they now knew him as 'Neville' (which was vaguely familiar), seemed somewhat resigned to his fate and accepted what was going on with admirable amiability. In fact, the wizard admitted to him two hours after they had left, this one was of the most enjoyable occasions he had undergone in his life. Malfoy was knocked out (at the time) and they were actually able to connect with him on the same level when it came to a love of plants. None so much as Trina, but the nature connection was still there. Night had to agree, if he had the pleasure of knowing Malfoy for as long as Neville had, he would also find the situation somewhat pleasurable. Neville had raised some awkward questions, but he had sternly put them down. He was **not** Harry Potter. No ands', ifs', or buts' about it.

"So," Zylle continued from her 'questioning' of his time at Hogwarts, an arm thrown around his shoulders, as if to reassure her that he was actually there walking beside her. He scratched behind Shadow's ears, the black feline purring in his arms. Night was somewhat worried about Hedwig, but she seemed alright. The owl kept looking around them, on alert, but he assumed his new paranoia to be in response to the wizard attacking them. Hopefully, she would be fine in a few days. "You escaped. Then you sensed our collective elemental power and went towards us. And you brought two wizards with you."

They were walking away from Hogwarts and its nearby village, the group somewhat happier that its mission had been successful. The other three had strayed to speak with other elementals they knew or relatives. Trina, he could see, was talking once more to Neville. Probably on the subject of herbs again. Malfoy looked as if he had swallowed a lemon, casting disapproving looks about him at their ragtag group. Which was getting on a few nerves.

Night answered calmly, "Yes," before adding, "Was that bad?" He got slightly nervous at the look of skepticism on his mother's face. "I figured we weren't making a transgression on the Paragon Treaty if we took them along," he elaborated.

"Not necessarily, but I'll think of something," she answered thoughtfully. "If I know how things usually are in these sort of circumstances, then Crowley will raise a fit. But in the big picture of things, I doubt it matters." She cast a look at Malfoy, who was currently sneering at Trina's muggle attire, but the earth elemental girl paid him no mind. Which made him all the more frustrated. When the blonde noticed their stares, Zylle's clear gray one in particular, he looked away quickly…_blushing?!_

In his protective anger, he nearly missed his mother's dry comment of, "That one's a bit ferrety-looking if you ask me." Nearly.

He laughed, joining her chuckles, and felt more relaxed and relieved than he had in a while. That searing headache gone, his powers working properly once more, and reunited with his mother. The promise of home was calling, where Gran and Hans were waiting for them to come back.

After a week of being away and kept prisoner, Nuitari Hawking could think of nothing better than returning to 14 Zephyrus Court.

* * *

Hey all. I know I haven't updated in awhile. Unfortunately, school and other matters have kept me busy beyond belief. I do manage to write segments now and then, available both on my blog and my Yahoo! Group (look in my profile for links). I am trying my best though to get chapters out when I can. If you have any questions about the story or my other fics, you can ask them there. 

**A few things to clear up:**

- First of all, in answer to a question, Dudley is not related to Melania in any way. She took pity on him and there were some ulterior motives there. He may have some powers and all, but Dudley isn't a descendant of a god.

- There are only three living descendants of dark gods mentioned so far. Harry and Tom are both related to Melania. James was also one of her descendants, but Voldemort killed him. Sirius, and only Sirius, is related to Thanatos. The reason for that is explained in Elemental Sight, a prequel up on my Yahoo!Group.

- The strange wizard referred in the explanation of the Paragon Treaty was Thanatos, having a bit of fun on Earth during that time period. Again, refer to Elemental Sight.

- Why are Draco and Neville doing nothing? Simple. They didn't expect Harry there, much less a Harry who is different from the one they knew and an elemental at that. It's rather shocking to the system. Also, Mordecai is a pretty imposing fellow when he wants to be. And Bran's pyromania probably doesn't help matters much anyway.

**I will give you some tantalizing hints as to the next chapters in Elemental Prophecies:**

- Sirius is not going to just sit there and mope, especially when he finds his godson missing again. As we have seen, he is a man of action. Keep that in mind.

- Another is that the significance of the hourglass will be shown when Dudley meets the Harbinger Cronus (who is in human form like Harry, but awakened like Mathias Darius ), who will reveal many of the mysteries surrounding the past as well as the nature of the Harbingers and Earth's creation.

- Lastly, Zylle and Sirius **have** met before in the past when they were younger. The same goes for Zylle and Remus, but that was due to Zylle and Sirius meeting in the first place. They just haven't realized who exactly the other is yet. This will be a rather funny situation. Why haven't they recognized each other yet? Well…it's all Sirius' fault, really.

That's all I'm saying for now. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for waiting so long for me to update.

**HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAVE A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR!**

---Raven Dragonclaw


	6. A Tear Upon Your Hand

_Disclaimer:_ I only own the plot, the concepts and ideas, Grey Tower Town, and any characters you don't recognize.

* * *

**_Elemental Prophecies_**

* * *

**Chapter Six   
A Tear Upon Your Hand**

_"If I dropped a tear upon your hand, may it wither it up!  
If I spoke a gentle word in your hearing, may it deafen you!  
If I touched you with my lips, may the touch be poison to you!  
A curse upon this roof that gave me shelter!  
Sorrow and shame upon your head!  
Ruin upon all belonging to you!"_  
- Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son

The command central of Empire City, the nerve center of Nemesis, and the true heart of the Trinity Organization - it was all the same thing – and it was always busy. If it weren't anything less than busy, Mathias Clarimorir would probably fire them all for not doing their job. And no one was about to get fired by Mathias for anything. No matter what race, gender, or general species you were, the benefits were far too good to lose. Full paid life and medical insurance, discounted transportation on any of Empire City's mass transit, discounted rent on your chosen residence (which always had a wonderful view), great food, breaks, and paid two-week vacations to wherever on Earth you wanted to go. Along with a month's worth of sick days per year. And the pay was fantastic. Who in their right mind wouldn't give it their all for all those wonderful parts of the job? There was no wondering how Mathias Clarimorir kept his employees, particularly those working in the prestigious and top-secret Empire City floating in space, motivated.

The only qualm anyone really had was about the dental plan. Even Mathias himself admitted that it plainly sucked. But he really couldn't do anything about it and told everyone to complain to the management department. The management department dealt with complaints with the classic…boxes. There, anyone looking to complain only found a small bin with the small label of 'complaints', which was empty save for a few suggestions of better tea (preferably Earl Grey), and a large Dumpster the size of three refrigerators put side by side with the sign – 'COMPLAINTS ABOUT THE DENTAL PLAN GO HERE'). Typically, overflowing.

Other than that, they had everything they could possibly ask for.

As the workers hurried to and fro beneath them, depending on how they performed movement to begin with, Hiroshi Takashi and Keisha Jennings were discussing something of what one of them considered of vital importance. The other would prefer not to speak of it to begin with and would like to get on with doing his job in peace, which was monitoring Earth security from the scanners and being the head of intelligence. Sure, he had a whole department doing the same thing, but he was just like that. Besides, both Mathias and Miranda were out on Earth on business. He wasn't happy about that. And Keisha, being the head of general security, was on break. As a result, he was in an even worse mood. Though most would claim that he was rarely ever happy unless he had a gun, new weapon, or Miranda Blackthorne nearby.

Hiro has made no comment as of yet to that claim.

"Why don't you just ask her out already!" the black girl screamed in frustration, sitting on the metallic counter with her long legs waving in the air. A few people below who had heard her beyond the enclosed glass compartment looked up at the pair skeptically, to rush off at the mere glare of Hiro. He was sitting in his comfortable leather chair, the computer screams gleaming in front of him, in which windows kept popping up. With practiced ease, he read them all quickly, dismissing each into separate folders with the push of several keys on his keyboard. She was not put off by his devil-may-care attitude and continued on her tirade, restraining the urge to throw her Trinity coffee-mug at his head and hope that it somehow fixed whatever was broken in his mind. "Let's think on this together, Hiro. How many years has it been? Better yet, millenniums? EONS, GOD DAMMIT!" With that, she cracked a computer screen with her mug (it was only chipped).

Hiro only gave her a calm and slightly condescending look before turning back to his screens. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Falcifer. And don't call me 'Hiro'. It's _Hiroshi._"

"Yes, I forgot," she pointed out dryly. "Only _Megami _can call you that, right?" She laughed at the startled blush that colored his face for a brief second before he controlled himself. "Listen, Hiro, you've been pining after her since…I don't know…not too long after we were created, I think. You like her, why the hell don't you make a move! If you don't act now, you'll never get your chance!"

"Still no idea what you're talking about, _Fal._"

"Fine," she spat irritably, "be that way. But a woman can't wait forever. And she's practically done **_that_**." Seeing his bad-tempered look (which meant that she was right, he just didn't want to admit it), she whacked him sharply over the head. "Take some vacation time and go have a good time for once-"

A large siren going off throughout the entire central command abruptly cut her off, red and blue lights flaring to life. Hiro shot up in his seat and only threw the other Harbinger a brief look of concern (Falcifer had fallen off the counter in her surprise) before typing away at his computer, but finding nothing wrong or urgent in any of the intelligence files that he had just looked through or was receiving. He pushed the intercom, ignoring Falcifer's calls to the security department, and his succinct voice projected loud over the tumult happening below.

"Everyone, hold it!" Everyone stopped in his or her tracks, some in mid-movement. "If there is an emergency, then don't just call it in and start chaos, inform us first!" There were a few apologetic murmurs as the siren noise died down, leaving only the flashing red and blue lights. Hiro turned around at Falcifer's prodding finger and he turned around to find his friend looking pale considering her dark skin. She pressed the monitor button and the large window screen in front of the command center, where the majestic Earth prominently hung in the darkness of space, was soon replaced by the countenance of the American president.

He was someone whom Hiro had never liked to begin with. The guy seemed far too gung-ho and happy for his tastes. That, and the last dinner he had in Washington D.C. did not satisfy his critical palate, no matter if Miranda completely enjoyed the food (shrimp in lobster sauce with a side of rice and potato salad, glass of Chianti wine, and chocolate cake for dessert).

_"…So it is imperative," _the president was saying, smiling triumphantly to the anxious and eager reporters around him, the cameras all focused on him. _"That we eliminate these threats to our businesses. These large monopolies, under the guises of legitimate corporations and benevolent providers of society, are nothing more than trusts that have dominated our world. Trusts that have flattened the competition, put hundreds of Mom-and-Pop stores and other small businesses into bankruptcy with their sheer overwhelming power. It is our responsibility to put these companies back in their places and make the world safe again for free enterprise and good, clean business practices. There is also the added charge that many of these corporations are destroying our environment, something that is our duty to protect. There are calls for drilling in Alaska and especially in the fragile Antarctica. We just can't allow this to go on."_

From the cacophony of voices, one reporter's voice on the floor managed to overcome the others and asked, _"Sir! Who are among these corporations? Who is going to be the first on your list?"_ Hiro's blood ran cold as he recognized that voice and he knew that the people in the command center knew it as well. Keisha was cursing profanely, but in a low volume so that she would be able to hear what was going on. The cameraman only focused briefly on the face of this female reporter, who had a beautiful face with long blonde hair and lavender colored eyes. "That damned light goddess, she should…" he heard Keisha mutter behind him before trailing off into vulgarities once more.

_"There are many of them, I admit that, and it will be difficult to get them for what they deserve. But I think with enough support from the American people and the world collectively, it can be done." _The president smiled at the cameras, clearly enjoying the attention. _"Our first target will be the Trinity Organization, headed by Mathias Clarimorir…"_

"Shit!" Hiro yelled out piercingly, startling everyone out of his or her own silent horror. He put the intercom back on, so there was no mistaking that everyone could hear him. "Everyone, back to your terminals! I'm calling is a Level Alpha Emergency. I repeat, Level Alpha Emergency." He turned to Keisha, who was yelling at someone on her phone and asked, "Did you get Darius?"

"Yeah," she said distractedly, "he'll be on…"

The American president's image soon vanished, to be replaced by the frowning and serious face of Mathias Clarimorir. "I've heard the news," he started simply, causing one nearly hysterical person to let out a short laugh. "I want the lawyers down in here in New York as fast as you can and to notify all other branches of Trinity immediately." As soon as he started dispensing orders, everyone started moving. "I'm hardly going to let us go down just because they say I can't have a company. Megami." Hiro could only assume that Miranda was linked up to their transmission. "I want you to go to Britain. If she's pushing against us, she might make a move towards our _'friend' _there, also. He's practically on his own. Just keep him covered, don't interfere unless necessary. Keisha, you will be in charge in Empire City and keep order from there."

Hiro blinked back surprise. Then what was he supposed to do? "Hiroshi." He instantly stood at attention. To his astonishment (and he was someone that was hard to shock under any circumstances), he found Mathias smiling grimly. "I've never heard of a time when the government was just so **adamant** about the environment. I can't help but be curious." A grin began to pull at his lips, seeing where this was going. "You and a team of your best agents are heading out to Antarctica. I want to know what's going on down there that they don't want us to know about. You have use of any weapon and take the Enlil jets to stay off any form of detection."

"Rules of engagement?" he asked. He wanted to make sure he understood the mission.

"Just make sure there are no scientists or United Nations people there. And don't do anything until you've found out what's going on down there. After you do that, report in. If the situation calls for it, you may see some action."

"Will we be able to fire the-"

"It's all about that gun, isn't it? Fine. Charge up the Meteor Storm Cannon. **_Just in case._**"

"Right," Hiro responded, taking care to sound sincere. He really didn't quite pull it off.

"What about Pheta?" Keisha asked angrily. "We can't just let her go off this easy. She's making a direct blow against us, we have to retaliate!"

"She won't be going after us," Mathias said calmly. "She knows that though we aren't in our fully true forms, we've got the Universe's protection. She'll go after those who aren't. Especially the last General. That's why Megami is going to Britain. We can't let Pheta get her hands on Nuitari. Understood?"

"Understood."

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks had passed and he still hadn't found him. 

Sirius Black was angry. That was the surface feeling at any rate. Inside, he was in more pain than he cared to admit. And as the convict-turned-Auror walked down deserted London streets, swaying slightly from the many firewhiskeys he had just consumed, he couldn't help but feel that he had failed in his duty as a friend, a godfather, and a protector of the innocent. He kicked an empty beer can that was lying on the sidewalk, hearing the ringing metal clang against the cement, its volume heightened by the sheer silence that pervaded the London night. With the exception of a bad-tempered cat, there was no answering response to his little disturbance. Not that there would be any since the street where the Leaky Cauldron located was primarily for stores and not homes.

The question that weighed on his mind was simple. _Why?_

Those days at Hogwarts were supposed to be cheerful, he reflected. They were supposed to be happy and celebratory, perhaps a party or two. There would be the added bonus that he was freed now and he could fully adopt Harry, taking him away from that horrible life. Life would be like it should have been, with the exception of the loss of James and Lily. They would have a grand old time and heal the wounds that no doubt the Dursleys had inflicted. They would deal with Voldemort together and get on with their lives surrounded by good fortune and family. Things would be looking up for a change.

_Yeah, right_, he thought to himself despondently. _Everything looked up for a change, that's for sure._ He had his godson to only find that he had amnesia and didn't remember him at all, believing himself to be an elemental to boot. Not only that, but even when confronted about the amnesia, Harry stated his views about where he wanted to be quite plainly – and though it pained Sirius to admit it, the green-eyed teen he sacrificed so much for was right. Harry, or Nuitari as he constantly argued, had everything a teen his age should have; at least Sirius assumed he did. He claimed to have family and during that week, seemed constantly concerned at their worry for him (something the boy never doubted in the least). He had certainly had loyal friends for them to dare to sneak onto Hogwarts grounds, disguised as **wizards** no less! He had school and was probably doing well, Sirius had caught the boy studying from his books that had been taken with them during the abduction with a diligence that he was sure the Harry he had known never possessed. And that violin…he had never known Harry to be musical in any way before…

There was also the physical exam that Madame Pomfrey had given him. Harry had shot up nearly an inch and a quarter in height since the last time she overlooked him in June. Not only that, but he was also stronger and put on some weight. Whatever injuries Vernon Dursley had exacted were entirely gone, with the exception of two cuts on his shoulder and neck that were nearly completely healed already. The matron was caught between pleasure of Harry's presently good health and her sympathy for himself. Sirius had never liked pity and the look she had given him when she announced Harry's amnesia made him cringe just in remembrance.

He hated feeling helpless. He hated feeling that he was useless even more.

**_"I was told by someone that I had a cruel life, that it was best not to remember. And every time I thought about that, I realized that there had to be some truth in what I was told. And besides, I have everything I could ever want now! I have a home now, a loving family, great friends, a wonderful life! Do you think I'm going to give that up just to play some martyr for the people that nearly killed me! What on Earth do you take me for!"_**

Harry's words reiterated and echoed in his head, the cruel rejection slowly killing him like a well-aimed knife in the heart. As he continued on his way to nowhere in particular, stumbling slightly, Sirius kept his blue gaze decidedly on the ground, lost in his melancholy thoughts and the whispers of sorrow in his ears.

"It's a bit disturbing, you know. You act far too much like Thanatos, Sirius Black," a sardonic and dark voice announced mildly behind him, as if he were commenting on the weather. Wand brandished, Sirius turned to face the speaker, though his stance and balance were less steady than they usually were. The point of the wand, though wobbling, was directed to a speaker leaning against a brick wall, shrouded in shadow. Half of him was in the deep shade that the building provided, the other half was lit harshly by bright streetlight. He wore a long black coat, a black leather shoe tapping on the sidewalk in a vaguely familiar beat. A dark fedora hat obscured most of his face, though Sirius was distinctly aware of deep blue eyes and a knowing smirk.

The resemblance nearly knocked him over. But it was definitely **not** the now well-known god of death. The man, or better term would be 'god', had longer hair and features that were more mature. Like a slightly older version of Death. This was someone different, but obviously connected to Thanatos – and indirectly, to himself.

"You're…one of," he struggled with his words, the fog of firewhiskey and surprise now finally setting upon him. He shook his head, realizing bemusedly that this would lead to a hell of a hangover the next morning, before finishing lamely, "Them."

"Apparently, my brother's inadequate level of eloquence has not failed to be passed down. Pity, as there are many more traits that would have been more befitting a descendant of our bloodline, and undoubtedly more useful," the still unnamed god noted, and Sirius was strongly reminded of Phineas Nigellus. _Apparently,_ his rebellious mind imitated pompously, _your arrogance has not failed to be passed down the line. Pity, as there are many more desirable traits befitting a regular and functioning human being that is being tormented by a bunch of immortal ancestors. Huzzah. _"I suggest you eliminate whatever thoughts are in your head at the moment, young one. I know for a fact that they are hardly conducive to the situation at hand. And they probably lack a great deal in maturity, intelligence, and basic wit."

Sirius growled. "And on what do you base **that** assumption, whoever-you-are?"

"I happen to be your uncle, Moros." The god's smirk widened as he watched Sirius struggle to recall the name. "You were most likely warned by Thanatos, who is my little brother." He then waved a hand imperiously in the air, as if swatting away the intricacies of his station…and the importance of Sirius and Thanatos, in general. Sirius, on the other hand, was becoming slightly disturbed at the fact that it seemed as if Phineas Nigellus had come to life and wearing muggle clothing (which was unlikely enough). "God of cunning and doom, you get the idea."

"Oh," Sirius pointed out, "patron god of Slytherins and Snivellus."

"Slytherin happened to be your uncle through marriage into the family, so watch what you say," Moros admonished. Sirius decided to deal with that shocker later. When he was better able to handle the shock. "Be happy you didn't say that in front of my sister Melania. She probably would have cursed you. Besides, that lot has a better view of the world than the rest of you do."

"They're a bunch of paranoid bastards," Sirius said blandly.

"No. The correct term would be **_perceptive_**."

"They're still bastards."

"Of course, they are. Have you ever tried being one? It's terribly good fun, not to mention quite liberating. By being a bastard, you have no real obligation of being polite."

Sirius threw up his hands in defeat, deciding to forget it all and return to…Grimmauld Place. He surely had better things to do! At…Grimmauld Place. _Which is better, here with Slytherin-like god while someone inebriated or at home with Phineas Nigellus, my mother, Kreacher, and a hangover?_ The god won. "Why have you decided to appear to me? You guys seem to revel in making me suffer, why not actually give me a reason?" he demanded.

"Now you're being reasonable. For a first." Moros pushed himself off the wall so that he stood directly in front of Sirius. The god had about three inches of height on him and Sirius thought of himself as reasonably tall. The blue eyes that he knew on Thanatos to be mischievous and scheming were serious and sharp on the elder brother. "My sister has the child's best interests at heart, but I must intervene. Things have changed, thus plans must be adjusted. I'm going to get you into Grey Tower. However…" Sirius felt a round sphere placed into his palm. As he brought the object into the white streetlight, the black feather contained within the small globe of crystal seemed at once ominous and dangerous.

"Quite a few people at Hogwarts – and my sister – won't be pleased about this. But it's just as well. You need to give that to young Harry…and you've best be moving. Time's a-ticking. Don't worry about the hangover. Nuitari can't be kept waiting." Moros flicked his wrist in Sirius' direction, a purple spark brightening the shadows briefly. "Hope you like the threads. Wizard robes tend to stand out in Elemental territory."

Sirius looked down critically at the clothing that replaced his customary wizard robes. Feeling he might as well get some word in edgewise, he quipped, "My, I didn't think you gods cared about fashion and all."

"We are multi-talented. It's a gift. And a little fashion sense would do you some good – you're no Casanova like Thanatos was when he was wandering about. Cutting that long filthy mop of hair would be a start."

_Is it wrong to hit your immortal uncle? Are smirking and unappreciated advice good reasons?_

"If there is one thing you should be assured of young Sirius, it is this," Moros spoke cryptically. "This will turn out to be very interesting…for me, at least." With that and a short bow, Moros vanished, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts and a sinking feeling of trepidation.

* * *

"Okay, I know we've had our difficulties. It's understandable. But I feel that we have to be mature and civilized people and learn to tolerate each other. But we live in the same house now, eat the same meals, and to some extent the same adult authority. I think it would be best if we start to get along, maybe even become friends…" 

Sitting Indian-style on the living room's leather couch, Night gave the blonde a withering look over his glasses. "I don't think you realize it, but you aren't staying here forever. Now let's skip the pleasantries and get to the point," he commented dryly, before turning back to the mathematics textbook open in front of him. _May whoever thought up of trigonometry should rot in Hell._ This prompted another mental tirade against curious ancient Greeks who sought to torture future adolescents with complicated and lunacy-inducing math equations and concepts. He really didn't need all this – his mother called this attitude lazy, and completely normal. There were just some people who liked it and those who didn't.

But that was beside the point. The point was that this…wizard, for Draco Malfoy was a guest and we must be polite to guests! – was attempting to establish a kind of camaraderie between the two of them. He was not able to pinpoint exactly why, but he was extremely hesitant about agreeing to any single thing that the other boy said.

After all, there had to be something up if none of the Grey Tower families would take him in, despite direct orders from Zylle herself.

Thinking back on his actions, Night had to admit one thing – they should have left Malfoy on the floor of Hogwarts while taking Neville. The other wizard – Neville – wasn't that bad of a person, quite nice actually if a bit on the cowardly side. He was currently staying at the Smythes, who welcomed him as a new son into the family after five minutes of meeting him. Night could only assume this was because of the shared earth element. Trina had commented to them earlier that it was nice to have a **"calm and reasonable male specimen of human being**" around. The rest of the Dragon leaders had taken some slight offense at this, but decided to let it go. Triana Smythe could be very formidable when she wanted to be.

Malfoy, however, was an entirely different matter. In the course of a day, all the families of Grey Tower that Zylle asked to keep an eye on the wizard returned him on the doorstep of 14 Zephyrus. They gave no reasons, but speaking with Malfoy had later settled it. The blonde was obviously stuck-up, snobby, arrogant, and sharp to a fine point. This combined with an inherent prissy attitude that, quite frankly, no Grey Tower citizen was accustomed to at all. Most of the town was middle-class and those who did have some money usually didn't flaunt it about. It was a kind of community tradition and consideration.

Therefore, no one knew how to (or wanted to) deal with taking care of Draco Malfoy while Zylle made the wizarding community rue the day they ever decided to infringe on Grey Tower territory. So, there was only one solution. Put Malfoy in the guest room and have him stay with the Hawkings themselves. It wasn't what either him or Zylle wanted, seeing that Malfoy could compromise their plans and Night's training (along with his conversations with Tom, but his mother didn't know about those), but it was the only option.

Malfoy, however, was ecstatic. This drew Night's suspicions…until he realized that Malfoy had developed a large crush on his mother.

Nuitari Hawking really did not need this. Really, he didn't.

For the past two weeks, he had been restraining the urge to kill the other teenager. The entire household had been turned about. For three consecutive days, they had to eat out because Malfoy thought to make the kitchen more 'civilized', thus blowing up the microwave and giving most of the appliances animated personalities. A man's highest possession was his dignity and it was a new low for Night to have to argue with the refrigerator to let him get the eggs ("You BARBARIAN! Eating the _unborn_! You're a vile savage! Get out of my sight! I will _NEVER_ serve the likes of **you**!" the fridge had shrieked and the blender, also adding its two cents, was convinced that Night was the embodiment of pure, unadulterated evil).

Then Malfoy turned the television into a pig during one of their fights, the frightened bovine subsequently running out the door and in-between Gran's legs as she came in from the grocery store. Shadow was constantly on edge since Malfoy had once turned the feline into a mouse, prompting Hedwig to catch 'dinner'. He burned down several hedges in the backyard. And complained loudly about hair products.

Night was reaching his limits. Malfoy claimed he was '_helping'_ and they were taking it entirely the wrong way.

They had come to fisticuffs before. Actually, they had fought on a lot of occasions. Generally, they were one-sided and Night knew for a fact that Malfoy had never been one for a hand-to-hand fight. When he brought this up, Malfoy waved it off, dismissing physical combat was "incredibly _plebian"._ Usually Zylle broke them up before they could rough each other up too much (sadly, he was usually close to winning every time also).

"How do you know I won't stay here for a long time?" the aristocrat asked, smirking in a snarky way that made trigonometry seem more innocent and nice in comparison. "This place does have a…quaint charm to it, I guess." The smirk grew wider. "I might stay for a spell or so. Besides, you don't know what I might tell my government when I get back. Would want all your precious secrets to be spread around the entire world, now would you?" He drew himself up, his arms crossed as he gazed down at the still sitting Night. "That would be a right shame."

"I'm sure," the brunette answered absently, returning back to the complexities of trigonometric formulas and the horrifying realms of _sine_, _cosine, _and _tangent._ "However, I doubt you have the capacity in that empty peroxide-bleached blonde head of yours to know the difference between our secrets and common knowledge."

If there was one thing that Night realized over the course of the entire ordeal, it was that Draco Malfoy was extremely sensitive over his intelligence. That…and his hair, which had taken on a more natural look now that he wasn't putting an exorbitant amount of gel to slick it back.

The careless façade shattered immediately. "Shut it, Potter. At least I know who I am. Unlike you. Imagine the savior of the wizarding world, becoming an elemental!"

"My name," Night replied venomously, "is Nuitari Hawking. And I'm nobody's savior. We've gone over this more than a hundred times in the past two weeks, hasn't it breached that thick skull of yours yet?"

Malfoy scowled, snapping, "Are you that idiotic? Face facts, you just don't want to give up your nice comfy little home here to face the Dark Lord. Are you scared that you'll die? You're Harry Potter. But you run away because you can't handle a couple of threats to your life and make a new one, calling yourself by a different name. Isn't that correct, _Night_?"

"Death is just the end of a chapter and the beginning of another. I have no idea what you're talking about and I assure you that I don't give a damn," Night responded, a tone of warning beneath his words that would have warned any other person off. "And it's Nuitari to you. Only friends call me by my nickname. Got that, _Drake_?"

"You bleeding-"

The math book went flying as Malfoy leapt, forgetting his wand entirely. Quickly recovering from astonishment and glasses flying off his face as they toppled over the top as the couch overturned, they started to hit each other. Night had the upper hand, being trained in how to fight, but Malfoy was quick to catch on to how to manage himself and wasn't afraid to take a few cheap shots. He cursed loudly as Malfoy grabbed hold of a lamp and attempted to smash it on his head, moving just in time and sparing any more damage, especially to the picture frames that had fallen off the small table during the scuffle. While the lamp could be repaired easily, woe betide anyone who messed with the photographs.

They were interrupted by an amused laugh from the hallway. Both stopped in their movements in surprise, Night pinning Malfoy down on the floor and fist raised to punch the other's face. Gran was standing in the threshold, a bowling bag in one hand and a pair of magenta bowling shoes in the other. "You know, you two act just like my brothers did! Splendid, I've got two grandsons now!" she pronounced firmly, before leaving the house laughing (or cackling, as Night would describe it) at their surprised expressions.

He looked down again at Malfoy, who was – shock! – smirking. "Two grandsons. I think I'm already part of the family, don't you think?"

Did anyone else have to deal with annoying people that smirked in very irritating fashions? If there were anyone else out there with the same problem, they should get together sometime. Start a union or something. It would probably help.

Well, hitting the problem certainly did. Hitting it hard.

* * *

He didn't like disruptions in his routine. Not at this point in his life. Because when facing the possible destruction of all of humanity and possibly the universe, one really did not want any kind of disturbance in the plan to _save _it all. Of course, some disruptions were good, but on the whole? Bad. However, being that there were gods involved, that could all go to the crapper. Gods were capricious and fickle, as well as had a habit of changing around things so that they either came on top, some desired result was achieved, or just because they were plain bored. 

Raistlin Majere knew from experience that dealing with gods was difficult and tiresome business indeed. Sure, he ended up in the employ of one, but he had met worse mortals and gods in worse situations. And it should be noted that when he signed up for service in exchange for knowledge, he did not mean to make himself involved in this sort of thing. Definitely not.

And as he glared down at the four fidgeting teens in front of him…as well as the unconscious one currently tied up in a chair, he had the feeling that this was a disruption and that he was not going to be happy about it.

"Um…sir?" Reginald started tentatively. "Something's come up…and I don't think you're going to like it very much."

That was not a good way to start off anything.

…Fifteen minutes later, after a detailed explanation of what had happened – two weeks ago! – in the library, it was then made certain – he didn't like it very much. At all. He angrily paced across the floor of his small office, his irritation mounting with each and every step he took. His wand/staff was carefully hidden away in the far corner of the room, so that he would be less apt to suddenly start cursing everything within his sight. Which, he felt like doing right now. But he doubted Melania would like that…and it might make him more suspicious in the eyes of Dumbledore, and by proxy, Pheta. And he did not want attention of that kind.

About two weeks ago, he was called to an 'urgent' staff meeting. The only consolation was that he was not the only one upset by this impromptu gathering. Wyvern Irving was grumbling about Weasley twins and Snape seemed especially sour over something. But what irked him most was the outraged Minerva McGonagall, who's ruffled countenance reminded him much of a wrathful lioness. Or a wet cat. Whichever. Apparently, Hermione Granger of Gryffindor had been found sleeping in the library. Of course, they all wondered if there was a point, until she mentioned that the girl simply _wouldn't_ wake. And no spell or stimuli of any kind would rouse her.

He didn't bother to intervene at the time. Raistlin figured it was some internal wizarding problem the girl got mixed up in. He swore by the three moons of Krynn that the wizards seemed to be determined to kill each other off.

Therefore, he felt he was right when the news had – inevitably – leaked out into the student body. The rumor mill was cranking out a surplus of fantastic stories. Some were typical: Slytherins or anti-muggleborns had managed to curse her and she was slowly dying with no cure. Another (and what he had thought was the best one) was that she simply muffed up a spell and had to wait until the effects wore off. Madame Pomfrey had regaled the faculty at dinner with tales of 'chivalrous' young swains who figured this to be some kind of Sleeping Beauty-esque situation and how she had to throw them out of her infirmary.

Raistlin didn't particularly care at the time, even if the rest of the teachers were (suitably and predictably, in his mind) stumped.

**Now**, was another matter. Because apparently these four had something to do with it. "What did you all do?" he asked, his voice low and laced with threats. "I figured this to be a simple mistake on behalf of the girl's. Are you now saying that you had something to do with her condition? If so, why did you come forward now?"

Their winces and cringes were enough to answer the second question. "She overheard us and we decided to see how much she knew. However, she reacted badly to the truth spell we had used to interrogate her. We came forward now," the Ravenclaw girl, Veda, pronounced, "because the crows carried a message. Their feathers indicated a great change. We figured that it would be best to wake her. She could prove a liability if not." _Crows? This just keeps getting better and better…_ Grims and crows, the Reapers had to be agitated if they were being so obvious in their movements.

He rubbed his temples in frustration, golden eyes narrowing in his aggravation. _This could have all been avoided if they didn't act on their own. _On the other hand, he was sure that he would not have received them well two weeks ago if they had. No matter which way they put it, they had erred. Raistlin wasn't fond of mistakes. "Move and don't touch her. You used _Veritas obscura_. It will be easy to clear up." Raistlin waved a hand over the girl's bushy haired head, dispelling the gray colored cloud floating around that was previously unseen. He turned to reprimand the perpetrators-

The door slammed open, revealing a red-faced and angry Ron Weasley. He saw the boy's eyes move to the slowly awakening girl, noting the relief in the relaxation of the youth's shoulders. Rolling his eyes, Raistlin prompted the boy to continue, even in the presence of the four spies. "We have a problem," Weasley said simply.

_What now! _"Really?"

"Yes, the feather's gone. And I can't tell where it is! I usually can- hey! What are you doing!"

Raistlin was already examining the pocket of the boy's robes, where he could more often than not feel the aura of the object. True to the boy's word, it was gone. And it had the traces of a dark god's magic all over it. Specifically, the vestiges of Moros' power.

"Melania will **_not_** be pleased by this," Raistlin grumbled into the silence.

"And who is Melania?" Weasley exploded, his face coloring scarlet with frustration. "Despite what you may think, you haven't explained a bloody damn thing!" He gesticulated erratically to the four exchange students, to the still bound but now fully conscious Hermione. "What do they have to do with all this! Why did you take Hermione! What was that feather and who in BLEEDING HELL IS THIS MELANIA!" His voice rose to an angry roar by the end of his tirade. Raistlin would have been more suitably impressed if the boy's voice hadn't cracked in the middle of the slew of questions. _Puberty. A disgusting period of time._

"Melania," he said softly, trying to rein in the immense desire to just make all of them forget what had transpired, "is someone you don't need to know about. The girl was taken because she heard something-"

Hermione, though pale and appearing slightly ill, broke in with a wild shout. The other four didn't dare move to silence her, Raistlin's order to not touch her still standing. "Don't trust him, Ron! Harry **_was_** here and they probably helped his kidnappers to get him back!"

Raistlin found himself with the blade of a sword at his throat. His golden eyes betrayed no emotion, including concern. "Talk," Weasley commanded. "And this time, why don't you give us the **_whole_** explanation this time?"

_I hate teenagers._ "It's simple. The gods are playing their games."

"And what does that mean!" the redhead roared.

He let out a soft sigh. "Exactly what I just said. Did you not think that forces much larger than you or anything that you know or could imagine were at work? This war is merely another manifestation of something that had occurred years before any of us were born. Even before this cursed planet was even created…"

* * *

"That will do, Hawking." He sighed loudly into the silence that otherwise pervaded the Chemistry classroom, the setting afternoon sun slanting through the windows and tinting everything a bloody crimson. The light seemed to _flow _over everything, the glass vials and flasks winking back at him, the stray note papers strewn about the lab tables ostensibly more like thin slices of the color of red roses. This did not settle his nerves, but rather increased their jumpiness. It reminded him of **that Dream** he had while at Hogwarts, where everything was dead and dying, where the sky was bruised and bleeding, what his other 'self' had called the future that awaited them. He shook his head, trying to drive the macabre visions from his head, as he took a seat to wait to be dismissed. 

The stern woman looked over her spectacles severely, eyeing him frigidly as she took in his exhausted figure slumped in the seat. It did not inspire pity in her, rather it prompted more than a little irritation. Then again, Professor Lavinia Serafina Coulter was never one to succumb to sympathy easily. She rapped her pen sharply against the wood grain of her desk, immediately catching Night by surprise. "It was a satisfactory presentation, Mr. Hawking. Satisfactory." He winced at the terse statement. Those words alone said what she felt the presentation actually deserved.

_Satisfactory _was usually enough for most people. In the case of any of her other students, this would have been just fine. In fact, it would have been great. Professor Coulter wasn't one to go about actually saying assignments or actions were praiseworthy in the slightest sense. However, she had trained him. Though he could argue that she didn't teach him much about potions and chemistry, only water elemental combat, it really didn't matter to her. She held a higher standard to those she bothered to spend more time on. He had to do more than satisfactory, he had to _excel. _

_Satisfactory_ was not satisfactory for him.

"Something's obviously bothering you," Professor Coulter intoned carelessly, marking and slashing her papers viciously with red pen, as if she were literally attacking the assignment and making it draw blood. Blood. He had to get the thoughts of blood out of his head. They were recurring far too much for his comfort. "If I would venture a guess, you have been _'disturbed'_ , to put it mildly. Ever since you had come back from that horrendous castle." She looked over at him, stringency apparent in the thin line of her mouth. "One hostage would have been enough. Bringing a rich boy with absolutely no acceptable concept of respect and with an inflated sense of self-worth was doubtlessly a stupid decision."

"I didn't know that he was like that at the time," he defended himself weakly. _'Stupid' doesn't do the statement justice, more like 'utterly brainless' would have been a better description. _"I knew he was a complete jerk from what we could tell in those few minutes, but that was about it." Night ran a careless hand through his hair, thinking back on all the weighty problems plaguing his mind. How simple it would be to just talk to Zylle about it. Or Tom via the mirror. Even Hedwig or Shadow would do! Maybe try to summon Lady Melania. But Malfoy's constant presence stopped him at every chance – the wizard was far too nosy and egocentric for his own good. And judging from the stories lauding his father as some kind of heavenly gift sent to Earth to guide humanity on the right path to general prosperity and goodness, it was an inherited trait. That, if Night had not learned to start tuning most of it out, would have known for a fact went back as far as the pureblood family started.

But he assumed that it did.

"But I don't think it's this Malfoy brat that has you so perplexed," she pointed out, "A brat is a brat. You've seen one, you've seen them all. It doesn't matter what magic they have or how wealthy they are. Simeon Bradley is enough experience for you to know how to deal with one."

He sighed in defeat, knowing there was truly no way out of the discussion. And no escape from the room either if Professor Coulter had her way either. His fingers drummed the table in agitation, trying to find the words and yet not revealing **_all_** of his thoughts. "It's…It was that man. The one that kidnapped me, Professor." The chestnut-haired chemist looked at him impassively when he silently begged her to drop the subject. "He seemed so sure that I was his missing godson. And those people said that these tests proved that I was that person…Harry Potter. And it looked like he cared about me, though I think he had a bad way of showing it…what if I really am Harry Potter?"

"Then you are Harry Potter in addition to being Nuitari Hawking," Professor Coulter replied coldly. "A name or simple nickname or even a title is nothing – they are just words, a handle, and should neither be feared beyond reason nor revered above the rest. There must be a person behind it all, and that is what matters." She slammed the drawer of her desk shut, startling him from his perusal of the sun's journey westward. Purple clouds were clumped together, though he could catch the rosy tint of pink along the edges.

A manicured hand – cool to the touch, controlled – rested on his shoulder, tightening so that he could not ignore it. "Desperation compels a person do irrational things. The wizard who kidnapped you was proof of this. And the wizarding world must be desperate to thrust the responsibility of saving them all on to a single person's shoulders so that they would be blamed if they failed." Her hand deserted his shoulder as she made her way to the door. "You must now, more than ever, be vigilant and sharp-minded. In times of war, desperation is a dangerous weapon."

Gray eyes watched the streetlamps below light up. He looked at his hand…it was crimson colored.

The clock struck five o'clock. And it disturbed him to see the sinister shadows playing on the street sidewalks. They flitted this way and that; constant companions to the more tangible, but no doubt knowing more than their more substantial counterparts could even comprehend. It was that darkness – a darkness borne not of the power of Melania, but of an older power – that made him nervous. His fingers unconsciously closed around the circular mirror around his neck, feeling the warmth of magic and tracing the etchings, ghosting over the edge of the glass. It was as if he knew that it was terrible, but not **_what_** it was. Which did not help his anxiety at all.

Why did this all come down on him at once? A little spacing would have been nice…everything was moving far too fast for his liking, and the enormous amount of events happening were beginning to overwhelm him.

…_Desperation compels a person do irrational things…I can't be irrational…not now of all times…_

"Do you doubt yourself, Hawking?" Professor Coulter's voice said chillingly into the silence. "Doubt can only lead to mistakes when action must be taken. And in times of war, there is very little time to think and very little time to make a decision and act on it. I suggest you speak to your mother about these suspicions of yours and face them, moping does nothing to answer your questions. She knows all too well how wizards act towards those who aren't of their own kind."

"My mother?" he questioned, turning around to face the older woman. "How would she know about that? She…never mentioned anything about knowing any wizards." Was there more to his mother's anger towards the wizards than he thought? No, there couldn't be. Zylle would have surely said something to him about it, especially considering what was going on.

"I can imagine why she never told you," Professor Coulter sneered. "It's a bit of a personal matter; it happened awhile ago. But I can imagine that a few wounds just don't heal." She smiled enigmatically. "Ask her about the wizard called _Nathaniel Black_. Though I suggest you be a bit careful about how you broach the subject. She's sensitive about it, still. It was embarrassing…that's all for today. Lock up when you're finished cleaning up your representation. And clean up the Erlenmeyer flasks while you're at it." With that, she left him alone in the classroom and to his thoughts. Her heels clicked loudly in the deserted hallway and Night knew she was leaving the school as the sound grew fainter and fainter.

Red. Scarlet. Crimson. Rouge. Night sighed. He had the distinct feeling that there would be blood soon.

* * *

_"…we can't stay here forever. They're drawing closer, yet we stay on this cursed planet. Why! If we do not leave, Eden will be our coffin..."_

_ "…that much is obvious. But where else are we to go! The Castle is our last stronghold, the last base of Nemesis! The war is consuming everything…"_

_ "…sixteen thousand planets dead. Everything we've worked for is gone…the Maleficus…breaking through…"_

_ "Tartarus…defenses are still holding…Erebus will not falter…"_

_ "…but Nacht is dead, killed by Althelion himself…a rage they say, right in front of two dark god-children…you know, Thanatos and Melania, those children…the Lightborn are making things worse…four out of the five great dark gods remain now…"_

_ "…won't hear of it. Idealistic brats, they don't understand the balance must be maintained if we are to survive at all…anything we can do…"_

_ "…nothing, nothing! Surely, we can retreat and leave the chaos behind until…seal the doorways…"_

_ "…cowards! We cannot abandon our purpose! We must remain strong and faithful…"_

_ "…hypocritical! Purpose and faith to a creator that has run away…"_

_ "…but for now, leave it be! The angels are the greatest threat to us now…Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael protect the new organisms, the ones like dolls…wounded Mordia to near death…the Griffin fleet destroyed…Mars under attack ever since…"_

_ "…But Nuitari and Megami…"_

_ "…doesn't matter…"_

_ "…fleets can be deployed quickly…chance to save Mars, our last ally…we should not hesitate…"_

_ "…nothing can be done! Ophelia is dead…Mars is destroyed…refugees…shelters underground…hunted…killed…"_

_ "…we're going to die here. Eden is the Catalyst…Isaiah speaks no lies, we will die here…"_

_ "…going down without a fight…we are Harbingers…use what have we got left, plug leaks in intelligence…"_

_ "…the Ice Harbinger. What is between him and…"_

_ "…she'll break his heart and bring doom to us all…he won't listen…that emotion we were given, it attracts him to that damned angel…"_

_ "…eliminate him! Rachelle is only loyal to the Almighty…plays with his emotions, when she has none!"_

_ "…be serious! Killing one of our own…disgusting, unheard of…"_

_ "…only option…risk being destroyed simply over a doll of the Almighty…if that's what it takes to do, then…"_

_ "…small number of us left, as it is…division among the ranks…must stay united…"_

_ "…cannot act rashly. Cadmus may understand…survival is imperative…more important than his infatuation with the archangel Rachelle…he'll…"_

_ "…want to die…all for love…"_

_ "…It's all we have left…"_

_ "…pretty words…but it's not enough to save us from the end…"_

Night opened bemused eyes, blinking owlishly, trying to recapture the dream. It was a conversation that he had taken part in, but unlike the brief flashbacks that he had received before, this was different. This memory felt much older – if he trusted his instincts, older than he was born. Which made no sense. Not that the exchange meant much anyway, especially since he could only hear a few words of what each person said – the breaks prevented him from getting a clearer idea, as though the conversation was coming through one of those old radios that had a lot of static. It also only raised more questions. It had the same feel of the dream in Hogwarts, possessing that same aura of exigency, peril, and presentiment. And that didn't allay his racing mind either.

_Great time to wake up,_ he thought grumpily as the neon green numbers of his clock told him in was 2:38 in the morning.

What was a Harbinger? And what were they (and himself) talking about that was so urgent…and apparently inevitable?

He was connected to this. They mentioned Thanatos and Melania. And they also called him Nuitari.

Turning on his side, he glared at the cat sleeping on his pillow. No matter how many times he scolded the feline, Shadow persisted in sleeping his bed. There was even an argument with Hedwig over this (he thought it was, they seemed to just stare and attack each other when he had a problem), but to no avail. Normally, Shadow would be off his bed by four in the morning, when Hedwig returned from hunting. "Lucky you. You're just a cat. Or a sort-of cat. Whatever. I bet you don't have to deal with these crises of existence now do you?" He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "They suck."

He would contact Tom tomorrow night. Maybe he had some answers. Or he could get him through to Melania. At least it was a start to a plan. Hopefully, nothing new would come up to stop him.

Hearing Malfoy mutter in the next room about the thread-count and material of the sheets in his sleep, Night doubted his hopes would be answered.

* * *

It was a strange kind of demon, he figured. It had to be. That was the only reason why he could not sense a single thing…nor did the Mancer pick up any sign of demonic activity. But Cami said that there was – **_something_** – there, something that wasn't human and all too dangerous, he couldn't help but become involved. Despite his better judgment, it was only he and Cami this time. Jerry was out of the country with his parents to study a new type of bug in Australia (Jerry was more than _thrilled_ at this) and Alyce was grounded for performing poorly on a history exam. 

_Not that I did too well on that exam either_, he admitted to himself. Then again, he spent most of the class time drawing pictures in the margins of his notebook. His history teacher wasn't looking for art, nor did he appreciate it much. Thankfully, his mother wasn't too angry about it. She sympathized; she never did too well in that particular subject either.

And Lirenas? Dudley snorted softly, apologizing softly to Cami after seeing her jump. The dark-skinned demon had taken off to who knows where. All he mentioned before leaving was something about checking the significance of the position of a star called Desdemona going retrograde in opposition to the star Angelus with centaurs in the north. That and something about an angel in the southern hemisphere. This was found out merely because Dudley annoyed Lirenas to the demon's breaking point, before leaving.

Seeing how flustered the normally collected demon was, Dudley had decided not to pursue the topic. Even if he was curious about the centaur and angel parts of the explanation. But whatever it was about, it seemed to…_scare_ the demon. And that was enough to draw Dudley's worry. In their times together, Lirenas was hardly ever shocked or lost his cool over anything, even if he was caught by surprise. Whatever Desdemona and that angel – whatever Lirenas was so concerned about – it would have to be discussed sooner or later.

Ever since July and the fateful events that had followed, Dudley Dursley suddenly had a great dislike for secrets.

He felt completely exposed in the Daisy Dip park of Southampton. It was a large grassy open space, though it wasn't flat but sloping. In the distance, he could see the darkened houses of Southampton's citizens looming, their blank windows seeming to watch him. The cloud cover was thick, but occasionally he could see a glimpse of white that was the moon. But that was where the Mancer's signal was leading them. Though the demon probably could see them and already knew they were coming. _Still…_

"Cami?"

"Yes?" She answered, her seeing-eye dog Sammy deftly leading her around an abandoned toy doll. As he passed it, he could have sworn the doll's glass eyes were watching him in their empty unnerving way. Its blond hair was dirty and tangled in the grass. "What is it?"

"You probably already figured that this place is completely open, but the demon hasn't moved at all. Do you think it's waiting for us?" That was actually odd…though it happened a few times. But most demons knew well enough not to bother with them – it was better to go the other side alive than risk extermination.

"I don't know…as I said before, I don't think it's a demon. It's too…old. And it feels dangerous…but I don't think it thinks we're dangerous to even attack."

"Old?" he repeated skeptically, deciding to ignore his hurt ego for the moment. After all, it was all Cami's speculation.

"Old," she reaffirmed, her sunglasses glinting in the slight flash of moonlight before it vanished. "_Really_ old. So old that…I don't have anything to compare it to." He was about to question that, but she cut him off. "Nothing, Dudley. Whatever it is, I think that it's even older than the Earth itself…I know it sounds crazy, but that's what it feels like."

They approached a small play area. The signal was strongest there. Dudley's eyes scanned the area but it was Cami that pointed out the swing set. The shadows where so concentrated, the size of their quarry so diminutive, he had completely missed it. Dudley quickly stowed away the Mancer into knapsack, taking out his flashlight. As the beam of yellow light illuminated the figure, he was alarmed.

It was a child, a boy of about five or six. He had mousy brown hair and big brown eyes. The round frames of his glasses probably magnified the latter feature and large wad of scotch tape held the bridge together (which reminded him painfully of Harry). Small feet encased in small dirty sneakers kicked listlessly in the air, small grubby hands clinging tightly to the metal chain links of the swing. A smudge of mud streaked his tanned skin below his left eye. He was looking at them intensely and Dudley understood why Cami felt that the child was old. It showed in those brown depths…a deep sadness and pain, along with a wisdom that he couldn't immediately recall anyone human or demon having.

"You have my treasure," the boy's childish voice rang out dully. The eeriness was increased when the boy began to push himself back and forth. Sammy whimpered, pulling at the leash. _Sammy wants to leave_, he thought vaguely. _That's probably not a good sign_. "I want it back. I need it. If I have it, they can't get me, you know." The swing began to squeak as the boy gained momentum.

"Who are you?" Dudley demanded. Cami reached out to him, holding his arm tightly. Even he could now feel the coil of energy surrounding him. The problem was, he didn't think he could stand up to it.

"That's a good question. Names are important, you know," the boy mused. "They call me Daniel. But that's not my real name, you know. That's just what my human parents call me. I have a different one." He looked away from them, glancing up at the sky. "My real name is Cronus. No nicknames please, because nothing nice comes out of a name like that, you know. But you can make a nickname out of my human name. Isn't that something? What are your names?"

He blinked in surprise, but Cami answered for him. "My name is Cami, he's Dudley, and this is Sammy." Dudley looked down at the seeing-eye dog, the intelligent animal now whining pathetically. Cami's knuckles were white where they held the leash, betraying her unease. "Sammy, are you alright?"

"I'm sorry," Daniel or Cronus broke in. "My presence bothers most animals. Most of us that are awakened have that affect on animals. Humans, too! Well, if they can sense us to begin with. But they don't know what to make of us, you know. We're too old; there is no instinct as to what we are." The wind blew, rustling the grass down the slope and up the one they had come down, and Dudley could see the doll again, lying there, watching them. "But that is understandable. My soul is older than most things."

"Your soul is older?" Dudley put in skeptically. "Is it older than the soul of the Shadow Goddess?"

"Yes, actually," was the flippant response. "She is still a mere child compared to me, you know." He then laughed, sending a chill running down his spine. "I'm very old. But I want my hourglass back. I need to protect myself, you know. And get back my full memory and knowledge. I know things, a lot of things! But my old self thinks I'm too young!" His swings grew higher and higher. "I'm not a baby! I'm five years old! And a war's coming, I'm going to see everything anyway, you know! And they are coming for those like me. Others, too. A lot of people are after people like me. It isn't nice of them. Mean, you know? And in this human state, it's very hard to defend one's self."

"And who do you need to protect yourself from?" Cami asked, shivering slightly as the energy around them doubled in strength. "Maybe we can help you?"

The child slowed to a stop, digging his feet into the dirt. Daniel looked at them thoughtfully. "That's nice of you to offer. But the best way you can help me is to give me back my hourglass. That way, I am protected from Maleficus. Angels, too. A lot of angels are still angry about how we managed to survive and ruin their idea for paradise, you know. They like rules a lot, that bunch."

"There's an angel in the Southern Hemisphere…" Dudley muttered under his breath, recalling Lirenas' words.

"That's right, there is an angel in the south," Daniel agreed. "But I think whoever it is, they are sick. In a **bad **way. Not good. I'm not too sure. I hope it's not Rachelle. Rachelle got us into a lot of trouble before. Made Cadmus angry at us, too." The boy pouted. "She was mean." He then smiled brightly. His legs began kicking at the air again, this time in excitement. Daniel leaned forward to them, delight filling every feature of his young face. "But there's another one here in Britain! Tabris was always nice to us." He folded his arms across his chest, nodding in apparent approval of this particular angel. "He respected us. But maybe he'll help the sick angel. Tabris is an important angel, you know." He then frowned. "But so was Lucifer. I wonder what happened to him? And Samael, too. They were really nice to us too, you know."

The mention of Lucifer did not make the situation any more appealing.

Cami then said, "There are angels after you, and some things called Maleficus? Are those demons?"

"No, no," Daniel protested. "They're worse. But that's a long story. Goes way, way, **way** back. At the end of the Golden Age, when everything went wrong. I think it's now called the Evanescence. That means _'the event of fading and gradually fading from sight'_. It's a **noun**! I looked it up in the dictionary, you know. I think it fits." He smiled at them enigmatically. "Do you want to hear the story? It's long, you know. But I read a lot of the stories you humans wrote. I think that it trumps them something awful. It's sad for me, 'cause it actually happened, you know? But I guess you might think it's wicked cool." His smile grew broader as he looked up at them.

"Do you want to hear the story?" Daniel repeated. Judging from the unseen energy pulsating around them, Dudley and Cami knew that they had no choice in the matter.

* * *

Sirius had decided a long time ago that he disliked his relatives. Over the past few months, this sentiment had extended further to his immortal (and apparently, sadistic) ones. And he had thought his _mortal_ ones were bad enough. Granted, he had not met one with the personality and sheer joy of causing pain as his cousin Bellatrix, but if there was one of those around… 

Well, he didn't want to meet them, thank you very much. That would probably drive him clear off the deep end.

He had already made a list of his immortal relatives in his head. The ones that he had met already. From the sheer amount of them, Sirius could only assume that the situation was similar to that with the Black family – a sprawling pantheon of relatives. If that **were** the case, then he hadn't met the 'Head of the Family', so to speak. Sure, he met the literal _founder_ of the Black family, but not the founder's _father_…and recalling his father from his childhood, that was a blessing. Which then brought on an interesting idea of Kreacher – did his relatives have selfless and annoying servants to perform their every whim? _Pity that Kreacher didn't snog Thanatos' trousers like he did to dear old dad's, _he mocked. _Maybe the miserable creature would have snuffed it then. _Death by trouser snogging. He then wondered if Thanatos had ever come across a case like that.

First there was Thanatos, the god of death and his ancestor, the infamous Nathaniel Black. Deceptively affable, seeming to have his own agenda. He was always popping in and out, Sirius couldn't figure out what he was plotting. Then Melania, the goddess of darkness. Reasonable and patient, but extremely protective of Harry, to the point that she took him away and is keeping all others from getting to him. She also apparently had a connection to Salazar Slytherin – marriage, if he was reading into Moros' words correctly. Ate, the goddess of mischief: fun-loving jokester of small stature, she managed to make them lose the way to Grey Tower while putting them under the intense stress of shopping (furthermore, shopping with _Snape, _then calling him _cute_) under the guise of bubbly tourist Tamara LeStrade. Hypnos, god of sleep and Thanatos' twin brother – the responsible one…and ostensibly overworked. Then there was Moros, the sly and cunning one. And from his conversations with them, he could only assume that there were more.

As he walked down the street, trying to appear inconspicuous, he scowled briefly. Personally, he could do without them all.

But whatever Moros did two nights before, it worked. He was now in Grey Tower Town. And moreover not being attacked or noticed. Looking down at his blue jeans, white t-shirt, and black denim jacket, he assumed that there must be something else to them to make him unnoticeable. Or at least unthreatening. Or maybe blending into the charged atmosphere of magic that he felt around him. Running a hand through his black hair, he noted the signs posted here and there. All of them warning against wizards and to be on the look out for them in Grey Tower – and added bit about a black dog, complete with a composite picture, was below it.

Judging from the way muggles (who stuck out like sore thumbs) ignored the flyers, he could only assume that they couldn't see them. When he first had a look at these posters, he was mildly insulted – Padfoot looked more like a large, but adorable mutt, not some menacing Cerberus missing two heads! Secondly, the way the message was worded, one would think that it was the _wizards_ who were the evil ones and trying to hurt innocent people! All wizards were supposed to be reported and taken out of Grey Tower, by force if necessary. Which did not bode well for him – he still remembered the beating he had gotten from that redheaded vampire and fire elemental, Mirai Alucard.

He needed to be careful. Real careful.

He turned the corner, looking for any clue that might lead him to where Harry was. The three hours he had spent hadn't yielded anything yet. _But,_ Sirius thought irritably, _it would help if I could actually talk to someone without looking suspicious_. So far, he had gone down several streets – one of them being what seemed to be a kind of shopping avenue, avoided being drawn into the rundown deserted area by sheer instinct, and meandered through several streets without getting any clues. At the moment, he was in entering…he glanced at the sign on the metal fence: Aiken-Quincy Park. If this also led to a dead end, then it would at least give him a peaceful atmosphere to think about his next move.

He followed after two teenagers, both dressed in uniforms that reminded him greatly of what Harry had been wearing when he was taken back (not abducted, kidnapped, snatched, or captured, like those elementals claimed!) to Hogwarts. One of them was a girl of about seventeen or eighteen, with auburn hair and a friendly open face. Beside her was a very tall young man with dark brown hair highlighted starkly by streaks of platinum blonde. They were walking side by side, talking to each other – Sirius could only gather that they were old friends from their camaraderie.

Truth be told, the tall boy seemed pretty upset about something. Sirius followed after the pair, slightly out of sheer exasperation, more so out of curiosity. Of course, he pretended to be nothing more than another _'normal'_ person walking in the same direction. It was then that he heard the name **'Thanatos'**.

If it weren't the kind of behavior that would attract attention, then he would be skipping. _A lead!_ Hopefully, it was a good one.

"-so it's a complete and total mess, Megami." _Strange name. Maybe it's an elemental thing._ "I was sent down here to try to get some kind of **_idea_** of what is going on, but for Heaven's sake! There's so much going on that I can barely keep up! There are far too many fields to keep an eye on."

"Don't worry about it, Tabris," the girl called Megami said confidently. "It will all come together. Climatic events tend to. After all, they become more bothersome when they do." The girl deftly threw off the annoyed glare that the boy Tabris sent her way. "What I can't figure out is why He would send you down." She perused the area with a critical eye. "To be here, I would figure that he would send an elemental angel." Sirius' brow furrowed in confusion and dread. _Angels? Will it never end!_ "Why would the Angel of Free Will be wandering about Grey Tower? Much less disguised as a teenager named Wesley Ardent?"

Tabris was visibly ruffled by the girl's ostensibly careless statement. "Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael have other supposed matters to attend to. They're out. Cherub, who is air, is busy. Tharis, who is water, is busy. And Uriel, who is earth, is also busy. And I'm assuming you didn't hear about that whole incident with Nathaniel, the angel of fire." Megami threw him a perplexed look, prompting him to continue. "Not too long ago – and I speak in our terms of time, not the mortals' – Nathaniel was attacked in the high skies above Greece on his way to deliver a message in Russia. A Maleficus." Judging from Megami's dark look, Sirius could assume that a Maleficus was **not** a good thing in her book. "Anyway, he was dying there."

"Nathaniel is dead," Megami exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"I guess you can say that," Tabris responded. "At the time, people thought his fall was just a shooting star. He happened to land by a dark god wandering about in mortal form. Not thinking from the fall (which was understandable) and mistaking that the passerby was an ordinary human, Nathaniel gave his power to the god and his last wish was to deliver the message." Megami nodded in understanding – something Sirius couldn't figure out since he was completely baffled. "The god took the power as his own and delivered the message, giving a good scare in the process. He then continued to wander about using Nathaniel's name."

"You mean Thanatos," Megami broke in. "That's why you were complaining."

"Well, the Almighty never took the power **_back_** from him. Bloody unfair to us other angels that a god – a dark one at that – got the power of Nathaniel. And in the hands of someone as crazy as the god of death! The higher-level princes think that was because Thanatos respected Nathaniel's dying request. There was also the fact that he started a family of wizards with strong fire elemental tendencies. And the detail that Thanatos made him laugh in the process of giving the actual message. Sort of a 'thank you'."

"Other than the fact that it explains how Thanatos is able to get away with a lot of what he does, what happened when he delivered the message?"

"I don't know. I asked Metatron before he slouched off somewhere to give some yahoo a message from the Almighty to tell something to the people. Typical calling thing, prophets, you know how he hates them. He mentioned a roast pig flying through the air, frightened servants, misuse of a gorgeous tapestry, a spear missing its target, and an unfortunate barbarian who was bending down at the time. And a lot of wine." Putting it all together, Sirius could imagine what happened. _Sounds just like him._

Tabris then gave the girl a sly glance. "But enough of that. Why is Megami – the legendary and notorious Midnight Harbinger, feared as one of the Unforgiven, and a general of the old rebellion – passing herself as Miranda Blackthorne, an average teenager who moved from America to the elemental community of Grey Tower?" Sirius' perception of angels – meaning as the pure, wise beings of light that dispensed good that he had heard Lily talk about briefly when discussing Muggle religion (he hadn't been paying much attention) – was forever shattered with the remark and leer, "Much less in a skirt that short?"

"First of all," Megami (or Miranda) started, and then she hit Tabris over the head hard enough to make Sirius wince. "Stop that. You can't pull off 'mysterious' and 'knowing' like a Harbinger can. And I had no say when I was reincarnated as a human girl, you pervert." She then ignored the grumbling that Tabris made under his breath, causing Sirius to wonder where angels learned all those curse words. That and who 'Hiroshi' was. "Secondly, it's because of Nuitari." Sirius' ears perked up. "You honestly don't think that we'd leave him on his own."

"Melania's power-" Tabris began, but was silenced by a look. "Okay, **her** power is protecting him."

"Right. From **Pheta **and other mortals. But not from Maleficus." It was then that he noticed her give a wink to him over her shoulder. _She KNEW I was listening_, he thought numbly. However, the girl made no move to tell her companion that. "They killed Silvanus Fudge, the reincarnation of Isaiah. We managed to save his soul though. But we're being targeted."

"And that's why-"

"Yep," she nodded, her auburn hair bouncing with the movement of her head. "That's why I'm here. Soon, I'll be heading down to stake out his house." Another significant glance over her shoulder at him, one that Tabris still missed. "You know the house? 14 Zephyrus Court? It's where the Hawkings live." It was then that she started giving accurate directions as to how to get to the Hawking home from right where they were to the now bemused angel, which Sirius quickly committed to memory. "Got that?"

Sirius smiled gratefully and broke out into a flat run, streaking right past the teenagers, and shocking the oblivious Tabris. He waved his thanks to the now laughing girl, who was quickly disappearing from view behind him. He swore he heard a startled shout of "WHY DO YOU DO THAT!"

_Thank you, Megami or Miranda or whoever you are! Not only did you give me some info on my nefarious ancestor, you led me straight to Harry._

Sirius did not see Thanatos perched in a tree, watching him tear down the pavement towards Zephyrus Court, smiling broadly to himself. The god whispered to himself, "Oh, I **_know_** this will turn out good."

* * *

"Fine! Don't believe me! But I swear, that new girl is definitely into you, Night!" 

"Nah! That's impossible, Bran!"

"The genius has a point. I've seen her looking at you from time to time. Not to mention that she just comes into school and starts talking to you like you're old friends. If that doesn't imply some measure of interest, then I don't know what does."

"Guys, I really don't think that Miranda Blackthorne has **_any_** kind of interest in me that isn't just friendly. So we talked and got along fine. That doesn't mean anything!"

"And denial is just another river in Egypt. Why do I get none of the girls?"

"Well, you're not the **_Black_** Dragon like Night is. Everyone looking for high status in the clan wants to get with the clan leaders, especially the future ones. Look at Ms. Hawking. It's a crime that someone attractive and intelligent as she is still is single…err…sorry, about that."

Night sighed and ran a hand through his black hair, shaking his head in both annoyance and amusement. "First Professor Coulter, now my mother. Thing for older women, Mordecai?" The amusement was only for his friends. The annoyance? Even among his friends, there were less than platonic interests in his mother. He got enough of it at home with Malfoy and on most days with the just as arrogant David Crowley of the Chimeras; he didn't need it among his more tolerable companions. _The complications of having a good-looking and single mother! You get guys on your back always checking her out. And it isn't exactly as if I can lock her up or something._ He entertained that notion for a bit, but figured his mother would probably blast whatever barriers she put up and lock **him** up most securely in return.

Bran grinned devilishly, eyes dancing with mischief. The "Well, you know what they say about experience and all," remark earned the redhead a smack over the head, laughs, and a red-faced Mordecai Freely.

"Maybe you should ask her out or something," Mordecai suggested, hastily trying to change the subject before Bran decided to continue on that thread of conversation. "I mean, Miranda isn't all that hard on the eyes." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Use the excuse of showing her about the town, explaining the customs of the clan." Night waved it off, prompting Mordecai to add, "You can at least put in a few good words about us? You know, how your friend Mordecai is not only handsome and strong, but is very understanding and fun to be around?"

"Yes, and like how your highly intelligent friend with the red hair is happy to give one-on-one study sessions, no matter what subject or year," Bran put in. "And that he's currently unattached and not in any relationships, though is not adverse to one in the least."

"You two, especially you, Bran Ravencroft," dark-haired boy said grandly, "are desperate."

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "Really, what gave you a clue?" Ignoring Bran's sputtering, he jibed, "I mean, you would think him and Trina would have gotten together about…last year, but no! Still stubborn."

"Shame," Night tsked. "Bloody shame." Deciding to take pity on his best and first friend in Grey Tower, he then said, "It isn't that I don't think that Miranda Blackthorne isn't attractive…" He frowned as he tried to put the feeling into words.

Miranda Blackthorne was something of an…enigma to him. A mystery that he couldn't quite fathom. For one thing, he had divided his worlds neatly into pre-Grey Tower/wizarding world and Grey Tower/elemental world. And it didn't take more than one look at her to realize that she did not fit in either category. Sure, they had got along fine – splendidly, in fact. They struck up an immediate rapport that he couldn't compare to any other friendship he could remember. Granted, that wasn't a lot, but still. It was as if they had known each other forever, separated and forgot about each other, then met again and continued where they left off. He rather enjoyed his conversation with the energetic auburn haired girl, finding a common hatred in the complexities of math and arrogant smirking idiots.

"Besides, I think she has a boyfriend. The cold, silent type." he blurted out off the top of his head. His green eyes (he needed new contact lenses courtesy of Malfoy and a vision spell gone terribly awry, so he was stuck with his glasses for now) blinked in confusion. _Where did that come up?_ Night certainly did not discuss boyfriends and girlfriends with Miranda. **Especially** not specifics.

_Why can't everything – I don't know – become simpler!_

He was greeted by twin expressions of disappointment. As they approached the corner where they would separate for the day, Mordecai lamented, "Pity. All the good ones just have to be taken." They stopped, ignoring the sign warning about wizards on posted on lamppost. "You can't come over to Trina's house again? We've got that chemistry test coming up. Not to mention we've got to practice for the concert next week."

"Yeah. But somebody's got to keep an eye on that stuck-up prat. Hopefully, my grades won't drop…and I won't ruin my violin by attempting to at least render him unconscious for a few blessed moments."

Bran frowned. "Tough luck. Why don't you just throw water on him? He may not melt, but it'd ruin his hair and start him on a rant. Then stuff him in a closet and skive off. I have no doubts that he'd notice a thing. That's what I would do."

"Yes, what **_you'd_** do," Mordecai pointed out. "Night has to maintain the 'dignity that is given to his high and lofty position', et cetera, et cetera. We'll see you tomorrow."

He waved good-bye to his friends' retreating backs and resumed his journey home. He deliberately pushed all thoughts of wizards and Miranda Blackthorne to the back of his mind. He'd ask Tom tonight. Hopefully, the trapped wizard would be there. The last time he had tried to contact him, he was met by a strange static. It worried him. But if the Lady were watching him, then he shouldn't be worried, right? The Lady was a powerful goddess; Night doubted that there was much that stood in her way.

Night entertained his thoughts on how to deal with Malfoy – he was seriously considering Bran's plan, actually – when he arrived at 14 Zephyrus Court. Humming a catchy song he had heard on the radio, he stopped short and the tune died on his lips upon seeing the person sitting so comfortably on the stoop.

Sirius Black grinned up at him cheekily, holding up one of the various flyers that had been posted about. The caricature of the wizard's animal form snarled at him from the paper. "You know," he quipped, "I think that I'm much better looking than **_that_**."

The teenage elemental bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming, instead settling for a low growl. His green eyes glinted dangerously as he glared at the older man, who was – to his credit – unperturbed. In fact, the wizard looked mildly amused at the expression.

What Night had no idea was that his glower strongly resembled his deceased mother's when she was particularly annoyed and frustrated – which she was often when it came down to Padfoot of the Marauders.

"What are **_you_** doing here!" he ground out, cursing both his luck and whatever powers allowed for Grey Tower's infiltration yet again. He had to have had some kind of help; it was just not possible for a wizard to waltz into Grey Tower without being noticed. They stuck out even more so than muggles.

"I've come to bring you home," was the calm reply.

Night snorted in derision. "Well, as you can plainly see, I've made it back here on my own just fine. So you can go now. I'm sure you know where to go." Straightening his shoulders and fixing his bag in anticipation of an altercation, he pointedly ignored his alleged godfather, cutting across the leaf-littered front yard to the gate that led to the back garden. Scowling to himself as he made his way to the back of the house and hoping that the wizard would just give up (he doubted it, but he could dream), he winced as he heard the tell-tale crunching of dry leaves behind him and increased his pace. He wound his way around a large potted plant and dug his hands in his pockets for his set of keys – just in case. The front door usually opened for him on its own, but the back door was an entirely different story. Especially during the entire sentient-kitchen-appliances-that-drove-everyone-nearly-mad escapade.

But Gran was usually in the kitchen anyway. For a brief moment, Night's mind wandered to the exact contents of the kitchen. He had been craving that pumpkin pie that he smelt as he was leaving the house that morning. Though he would probably have to do some chores before he managed to obtain any part of it.

Night grasped the handle of the door, but stopped.

It was…too quiet. His grandmother had a habit of blaring out the radio – it was one of the things he loved about her. He couldn't stand it when the house would go absolutely silent; it always made him edgy. Lately, it had been Russian music. But today, he heard nothing. Night put an ear to the door, hoping he might catch some strains – that for whatever reason, the radio was turned down, but still on. Unfortunately, he heard nothing. Not even static.

"She's not here." Night rounded on Black, not pleased at the entire debacle at all. Black shrugged it off, not caring…or apparently becoming accustomed to Night's less than amiable feelings towards him. "Your **_'grandmother'_**, as she calls herself," he started, and Night bristled at the disbelief and contempt in the other's tone, "went out to the market to get some groceries and took Malfoy with her. According to her, he was saying something about 'servant's stuff', which considering he's a Malfoy and therefore and impossible brat, is not all that surprising."

The teen wasn't all that inclined to disagree.

"Also, Hans – whoever he is – is out and to help yourself to some pie," Black finished lamely. Night frowned at the now serious features. He recognized that look from the many times they had…argued at that damned wizarding school. _Trouble. Again._ "We're going home now, so I guess you'll have to skip that."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" he shouted.

"For Merlin's sake," Black said, throwing up his hands in the air in exasperation. "You can get pie at Hogwarts!"

"That's not the point!"

Black's blue eyes darkened. Out of nowhere, Night was reminded of the blue eyes shared by the Dark Lady, by Moros, and by the grinning god of death he had seen months ago. "Exactly! The point is, you need help. You have amnesia, you've gone through hell with those damn muggles, and now you're consorting with dangerous people, while there are people trying to kill you!" He strode forward and Night deftly managed to sidestep the adult, dropping his bag to the ground as he did so. "I'm trying to bring you home, so we can deal with what happened. It's not safe for you here!"

Night raised his chin stubbornly. "I've never felt safer. The only threat to me here that I can see, is you!"

It was then that a loud cry of "Yoo-hoo! Zylle, love!" and the crash of a clay pot falling hard to the ground interrupted them. David Crowley turned the corner and was nearly hit by both fireballs and several strong curses that charred the stone fence that divided the properties of Number 12 and Number 14. The arrogant and dapper Black Chimera had managed to block the fire with ease, but was obviously thrown by the spells – which, Night noted with some concern, actually managed to pierce through the older elemental's shield, rather than repel like they should have. He filed that thought away for now, making sure that he would recall that should he have to fight Black.

The bouquet of red roses had gone flying and managed to land at Black's feet, though Black's wand was still pointed squarely at Crowley.

"Who are you?" Black barked out, rather dog-like in Night's opinion.

Deciding to stave off another argument (as well as get rid of the newcomer), Night turned to the elemental, his annoyance only rising. It seemed to him that everything…climatic, liked together all at once in one huge mess. "What do you want, Crowley? You know my mother isn't here," he stated out flatly.

Crowley apparently regained his composure and sending a glare at Black, adjusted the lapels on his jacket. "I know that. But I decided to wait for her, perhaps speak to you and your…charming grandmother. I'm sure you don't mind, young Dragon?" The last part was said sarcastically, which didn't improve Night's mood or his usually good manners.

"Of course I mind," Night responded angrily. "You have no right to invite yourself over, much less come back here like you own the place! Now, if _you_ don't mind, leave."

"Watch your tongue, kid," Crowley snapped back. "We may not be the same clan, but I'm Black Chimera for a reason. And I want an explanation." Night rolled his eyes, expecting a question that was probably extremely obvious. "Who is **_this_** man!"

That abrupt question made him lose his train of thought almost entirely. Night asked, "What?"

"Him! That man!" Crowley pointed at Black, whose expression seemed a mix of confusion, frustration, and incredulity. All understandable emotions when dealing with David Crowley, really. "I demand to know who he is!"

"He's…" the teen trailed off, not knowing exactly **_what_** to say. Sure, he didn't like Black and he wanted him gone right then and there. But to subject him to the horror that was Crowley? That would be cruel and pernicious. Maybe he would do that to a Panther or Draco Malfoy (on a very bad day), but for the most part he wouldn't.

"He's her boyfriend, isn't he?" Crowley burst out. He completely ignored Night's look of surprise and Black's shocked face as he…had a tantrum. "It explains everything!" The blonde man began to pace in aggravation and what was probably disappointment or something of that nature (Night really couldn't tell), ranting. "I should have known! Why **_else_** wouldn't she go out with me? She had to have a good-looking guy already – granted, he's not as good-looking as me, but still! But why! WHY! Why a wizard! I would have understood another elemental, maybe a muggle, but a _wizard_!" He then paused, thinking hard. "No, not her boyfriend…he must be her damn fiancée! They're in love, so they won't break up, even if Zylle deserves so much better." He continued to mutter on this tangent, trampling a few innocent flowers growing in the process.

Night swore he heard someone laughing (hard) above him, though when he looked up, he didn't see anyone.

Meanwhile, Black managed to sidle over to Night's side, grabbing his elbow firmly and a determined glint in his eyes. His features were set and ready. "Safe, my arse. We're apparating out of here. I'm definitely not leaving you here alone with a crazy person." The teen nodded numbly, not really listening as Crowley dribbled off even further about why Zylle had thrown off his advances all these years. From what he could comprehend, Sirius Black was now this: a rich and powerful wizard known throughout the country for his exploits, possessed huge amounts of property, was politically influential, pursued by beautiful and attractive women all over the globe, and had managed to seduce Zylle Hawking through a combination of magic, charm, and…and great…

_…I don't need this…_

Crowley then turned and strode up to Black, so that they were eye to eye. They were nearly the same height, making Night feel even shorter than he was. "Listen here, whoever you are," Crowley said, poking at Black's chest. "I don't care if you're rich, you're powerful, or even if you're in cahoots with the brat. I don't care even if the sex is spectacular!" This last comment made Night's eyes widen and nearly bug out in shock. Black reacted similarly. "Whatever spell you've woven on **_my_** Zylle, I will break it and she will realize that you're no good for her and that **_I'm_** the only man for her! Got that!"

With that, Crowley vanished. So quickly that even the usual signs of elemental magic didn't even register with Night.

"What happened?" Black asked weakly.

"Truthfully, I don't know."

He still heard that laughter, which had only grown in its mirth. It definitely belonged to a man.

It was then that both Black and Night jumped. The sound of a radio blasting an upbeat Russian song only got louder as the back door opened to reveal the smiling face of Sarah Hawking. "Why on Earth are you still out there, child! It's getting dark and cold, get inside already." It was then that she noticed the overturned plant, the charred fence, the roses lying forlorn on the ground, and the coup de grace: Black, who still was holding fast to the teen's arm in preparation to apparate. "Who is this, young man?" He could tell that she wasn't happy. Her right arm tensed – something he knew from experience to mean fire and a lot of it.

"If what had just happened is any clue," Night answered faintly, "He's Zylle's fiancée?"

He watched as a flash of emotion raced on his grandmother's face and realized – belatedly – that his sarcasm was missed entirely. "Get in here now!" the woman ordered, grabbing Black by sleeve and forcibly dragging him inside. "If you're marrying my daughter, there is no way in bloody hell you're not getting an interrogation first!" She then slammed the door in Night's face. The shell-shocked teen stood staring at it for several seconds before it opened again, Gran's face apologetic. "Night, go and pick up those roses. There's no need to waste good flowers, I always say."

Night summoned the roses to his waiting arms using his wind magic, the large bouquet flying at him. He winced at a few pricks from the thorns but went inside, dreading what was to come. And as he entered, he heard his grandmother questioning Black about everything from his job, family, background, to his…virility.

_Oh God._

* * *

_Who is that!_

**Who is what, cat?**

_The dog-wizard!_

**Dog-wizard? What do you…oh. Kardis, that is the master's godfather.**

_The what-now?_

**It's a thing among humans. A person like an uncle or mentor to a person, and doesn't have to be related by blood. This is our master's.**

_Oh. Why do they have those, White Owl?_

**I honestly don't know. Something that evolved over time, I'm assuming.**

_Seems kind of pointless to me._

**Most humans don't think so. And in their opinion, their opinion is the only one that matters.**

_That's pretty egotistical of them. _

**I've met worse. Every spoken with a male peacock during mating season?**

_No…I wouldn't see a need to. But it's a bird, right?_

**Yes, those blue ones with the large feathered tails. You saw a picture of it in one of the master's books. Remember?**

_Oh, those! Nope. I probably wouldn't speak to it, just eat it. They look scrumptious._

**I do recall you practically salivating and clawing at the page. Never mind then.**

_Well, the dog-wizard and the master don't seem to be getting along. Why would he be the master's…god-person, if the master doesn't like him anyway?_

**The master's parents chose the dog-wizard, not the master. And they used to get along very well in the past. It's just that the master doesn't remember…and the dog-wizard can get extremely protective.**

_Wait a minute…I knew he smelt familiar! He's that damn dog who kidnapped the master! How dare he show his cursed presence here! Let me at 'im!_

** Calm down…no need to act…**

_"MEOWWW!" _

"AHH! GET THIS CAT OFF ME!"

**…rashly.**

* * *

Night had sat on the stairs for several hours, waiting. Shadow was sitting on his lap, alert and wary, like a small but vicious guard…animal – certainly not a dog. Though the feline did give him the perfect excuse to exit the parlor. The black cat was only placated when it was near Night and away from Sirius Black. Of course, he made the best of it. Especially when his grandmother was currently trying to determine why the aforementioned wizard and his mother had kept their (non-existent) relationship a secret for so long and whether she was going to get any more grandchildren anytime soon. 

Malfoy was still in there though, getting far too much enjoyment out of this. The blonde boy had mentioned something about his mother, blackmail, and Snape. Night probed no further.

The door opened and his spirits lifted at the sight of his mother walking through the door, a smile pulling at his lips. Immediately, he reveled in the normalcy! The placing of the briefcase on the small table, the messy hair, the look that said plainly, _"It's wonderful to be home. I've just been in hell."_

It was then that he noticed Zylle's angry and tense movements. The dark-haired man that followed her in easily explained these anomalies. The greasy-hair, the prominent hooked nose, that sneer…it was Snape. Shadow hissed in fury and it was only Night's quick reflexes that prevented a repeat of the incident before.

Noting his scowl, his mother sighed in dismay. "Trust me, I'm hating this, too."

"Well, it seems we all have something in common then," Snape derided. He smirked at the young elemental, a smirk that didn't bode well for their future dealings. Probably because not only had he set a dungeon room on fire, disrupted one of his least favorite classes (locking him in with them to boot), and then sneaking out of Hogwarts while kidnapping two of his students, but also stole the diary of that had information on the elementals themselves. Specifically, the Sekai-Kage Wolves.

The diary was currently lying on his desk upstairs. He hadn't brought himself to read it yet.

Night was now seriously considering blasting all wizards not only out of his home or Grey Tower, but out of the whole country. Because this was getting ridiculous.

"I ran into him while walking in the park," his mother explained, glaring at Snape. "Turns out he could walk past the wards. And we're _obligated _to let him in anyway-"

"What!"

"He's the last descendant of Mirage Searle," Zylle answered sourly as she put her coat away in the closet, noticing Snape's expression of victory as she continued. "So, that gives him full right to be here. _Unfortunately._" The professor gave no response to the incensed brunette woman, even though there was a slight breeze ruffling both his and Night's hair now. She slammed the door violently. "It was a bad day. Suddenly, I start getting calls congratulating me on my _engagement!" _He knew this wasn't going to turn out well. "Then, this guy shows up!" She growled in anger, dropping her keys in the ashtray. "This is almost as bad as **that** day with Nathaniel Black! Wizards!"

Night blinked in recognition of the name from Professor Coulter – missing Snape's reaction of surprise as well – and inquired tentatively, "Nathaniel Black, Mum?"

Zylle frowned and then answered, "It was a long time ago. Dated a wizard named Nathaniel Black. Made the utter **_mistake _**of falling in love with him." She paused. "I doubt it was love then, but I was fifteen or sixteen around that time. Anyway, after dealing with him running off and getting excuses from his werewolf friend, I find out that it's not his real name at all and he had been with some witch named _Felicia_ of all things. Only using me to get back at his family – I've got a _'muggle' _girlfriend! Nearly killed him for that…"

"What was his real name, perchance?" Snape interrupted before Zylle could go on. Night looked at him questioningly, but Snape's glare clearly meant for him to keep quiet.

"_Not that it's any of your business_, I don't remember exactly," Zylle admitted. "That scatterbrained girl did keep on screaming about something 'serious', but I never quite understood that one."

"Sirius Black?" Snape repeated, now looking disbelieving. Night himself mirrored his shock.

"That sounds about right…why?" She looked between the two of them. "What's gotten into you?"

"Mum…" Night began. "You know those calls about an engagement."

She just looked at him expectantly, eyes narrowed. "Do you have something to tell me, Nuitari?"

Snape sneered maliciously. "Yes, do you have something to say, boy?"

"The wizard that kidnapped me was on the front steps," he said, resigned. "He followed me to the back and I didn't know that there wasn't anyone home. He was about to apparate with me back to that blasted castle when Crowley shows up." Zylle frowned, nodding to continue. "Crowley gets it into his head that you've been dating this wizard for a long time and came up with the weird he's your fiancée because…please don't make me go into details!" He actually begged at the end. "It probably spread over town because of him."

"Fine," his mother answered shortly, looking none too amused. "But you're here, so I'm assuming he's gone."

"No…he's in the parlor. Being determined if he's worthy enough to marry you by Gran," he then said with a wince. Zylle, her face set, made to enter the room when Night then threw out into the open, "And his name is Sirius Black!"

She paused. She gave him a searching look for a minute before heading into the parlor.

There was a loud shout of, "You bastard!" Mere seconds later, there was a large series of explosions, crashes, and booms mixed in with shouts and more exclamations. Sirius Black then came smashing into the hallway wall, appearing bewildered and dazed.

"It can't be her," Black denied flatly.

"Oh, I think it's her," Night quipped back. Snape actually laughed at this.

* * *

_"Empire City. This is Enlil Squadron 1, Assassin Fleet. Empire City, come in. This is Enlil Squadron 1, Assassin Fleet. General Hiroshi reporting."_

_ "Give your report."_

_ "Magical barriers have been erected around the continent. There is a visible angelic aura. The instability caused is making some trouble with the Enlil jet systems. Animal life is retreating **en masse**. Requesting resupply and switch to land tactics as soon as possible to get close undetected."_

_ "Granted. Anything else?"_

_ "The ice is cracking. Big fractures. Antarctica is breaking apart. To go by land, we have to act quickly. One thing more."_

_ "Yes?"_

_ "Intercepted transmission. Angels are hunting Harbingers. They are hiring mortals as well, for bounty. Highest bounty so far is for General Nuitari. Amount is approximately $2.5 million."_

_ "Return for further orders."_

_ "Confirmed. Ending communication."_

A white-blue light so bright it dimmed everything else around it, fading the auroras, rose up. The ice and rocks of the ice continent were marred with deep crevices and fissures. A chunk of the land mass broke off and landed heavily into the ocean, joining others like it.

Nine jets, streamlined and smooth, flew through the air gracefully, heading north. In the brilliant light, their silver wings gleamed.

A single black feather danced in the air before it was incinerated by an arrow of flame, shot by a white clad figure on a faraway balcony at the South Pole that overlooked the forsaken landscape. The person then shot three more arrows into the distance from a dark-blue colored bow.

He smiled when they saw three glowing balls of fire descend to the earth, his pleased grin and the pale skin of his chin were the only features not shielded by his fur-edged white hood. Turning about on beige colored boots, he stalked back inside his base, shutting off the small device perched on the ledge as he did so with white gloved fingers – hushing out the concerned voice of Darius, the cool orders of Hiroshi, the questions, the screams. His weapon disappearing with a flick of his wrist, a large and elaborately carved panel of ice slid into the wall, leading him to slightly warmer chambers.

The figure ignored the bowing servants who vied for his attention and made his way down stairs and more stairs, to an empty dark corridor. The sliding ice panel revealed a heavy steel door, which when opened exposed an iron grate with wickedly sharp spikes jutting out. He hummed to himself as he passed these, a happy little tune that if anyone else had heard, would have done more to increase their agitation instead of alleviate it. Light filled every orifice of the room, no corner left in shadow or darkness. Stark and pure, the source was in the center of the room. With seemingly no fear, he walked across the ice bridge, unconcerned about the gaping abyss below, to the floating platform of ice. He stopped just outside of a crystal barrier that hummed with spells and power.

"Hello again, beloved," he greeted joyfully. "I know I usually don't visit three times in one day, but I just had to see you again." This time his smile was full and mirthful. "You see, lovely, I have excellent news."

The woman entrapped within the clear ice barricade looked up at the man with brown eyes full of rage and defiance. Her light brown hair hung limply from her head, where she wore a halo of gold. Her white gown was shredded, what little armor she wore was battered and useless. Fading bruises were on her arms, a cut scabbing over across her cheek. The four white wings that sprung from her back were tattered and torn, the feathers falling from time to time. The white light seemed to be seeping from her very skin and those wings, the ground beneath her glowing an ominous dark purple. But she was still nothing more but absolutely beautiful in his eyes, even if she continued to be…difficult.

He ignored this. "Everything is going to plan. I didn't think that teaming up with a light goddess was all that great in the beginning, but look how things have turned out!" He chuckled to himself, though he seemed put out that she didn't share in his amusement. "I now have the means to carry out my revenge. With them all in their human forms, they're defenseless save for what puny powers their mortal powers manage to possess." He snorted disdainfully. "I doubt that it will do much good. But, ah well."

Turning around and falling backwards to lean against the frosty surface, he looked up to the ceiling, which was open and exposed, the light shining into the sky, outdoing the stars. "You would think that a light goddess would be smarter, but no. Maleficus continue to manipulate that pathetic little girl. It works to our advantage though, if she's finding our enemies and powering us up. If everything goes to plan, we'll be rid of all those who tried to separate us all those eons ago and stay together forever! All we have to do is eliminate the leaders and allow you to use your angelic power as a weapon. Of course, it's being amplified. No matter, though. Not too hard."

She moved away from him when he returned to face her, as if he could reach out to grab her. A tiny amount of spittle meandered down his chin as he was overtaken with his enjoyment. "Take down the leaders and they will fall! Isn't that the strategy you angels used to take us down during the Evanescence, Rachelle? It's now working for **us**." The angel eyed him critically, disbelieving.

"That's right, princess. I'm taking down my old comrades," he enthused. "Don't you hate harbingers? Well, I'm going to get rid of them, sweetness, don't you fret." He grinned maniacally. "It's been awhile, but can still think like a soldier. Oh yes. Cadmus still has the old instincts. So don't think you'll be getting out of here. We belong together. It's been preordained, destiny!" Rachelle spat at him in revulsion, but the wall that separated the two protected her captor.

Cadmus merely smiled. "Still spirited, I see. However, I can't stay. Sorry, love." He decided to overlook the relief that came over her face with this news. "I've hired those elementals – the Fox clan – to take care of Nuitari. They were more than pleased to – they'd be removing an enemy and making a great deal of money. I hired them knowing they'd do **anything** for money. I never liked Nuitari. So, it's good for everyone!" He laughed shortly before starting to cross the ice bridge. Cadmus then called over his shoulder casually, "Wish me luck, sweetums! I have to go settle an old score with our old friend, General Hiroshi. Remember the Star Harbinger? He was the one who tried to kill you. He also cursed me when I fled from the Verdict. We still have to **discuss** those incidents, among other things, I'm afraid."

Rachelle, throwing Cadmus' retreating back a terrified look, clasped her hands together and began to pray.

The Ice Harbinger merely smiled as he exited the room, smiled widely.

He doubted there would be much talking involved when he met up with Hiroshi.

* * *

Sorry I haven't updated in…nearly a year. I wasn't allowed near a computer until I had tied up all my schoolwork and standardized tests. Now I've got to prepare for colleges. Still, summer vacation! There's considerably more free time. 

This chapter's purpose was to set everyone in their places for a lot of action next chapter.

To make up for my long absence, I give you this extra long chapter: 41 pages and 18,320 words.

_Next chapter will feature: A LOT OF ACTION AND HARRY/NIGHT._

- The dark gods meet in Tartarus. Melania is **not** happy.  
- Darius attempts to beat Pheta with a new approach.  
- Zylle and Sirius attempt to get along despite their pasts and a lack of guest rooms.  
- Draco and Neville encounter some trouble in Grey Tower Town. Big trouble.  
- Ron and Hermione become better acquainted with other kinds of magic…but not in way that is especially good for their health and overall well-being.  
- Professor Snape having to deal with…celebrity. And a challenge of skill from Professor Lavinia Coulter.  
- The return of Wormtail?  
- Dudley and Cami listen to Daniel about the Harbingers' past. Unfortunately, a Maleficus decides to show up.  
- Thanatos is captured.  
- Mirai comes with news of massacred werewolf and vampire tribes. And increased Phantom activity in the north.  
- Tom has a warning about mysterious individuals.- The Takara-Tani Foxes invade Grey Tower Town. Target: Nuitari Hawking. The Ministry of Magic and the Order showing up doesn't help.  
- Hiroshi and Cadmus battle it out in Antarctica.

**IMPORTANT NOTE TO ALL READERS: I've decided to keep _Tears of Twilight_ as an AU. The same thing may apply to _Dark Reflections_. However, should _Celestial Requiem_ be revamped to be compatible with the new information in the Half-Blood Prince** **should it remain as an AU as well? **

**Members can vote on my Yahoo!Group in a poll, though you can leave your response in a review as well.**

_Also, there is no slash in this story. Just to clarify that._


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